Written by P.chez

I look at her and see power without any apology,

a thunderstorm that walks like a woman and speaks like truth.

She doesn’t shrink, there’s no need.

She doesn’t ask, she simply receives.

She takes up space and fills it with purpose, with rhythm, with fire.

Her confidence isn’t borrowed, it’s built by her own hands,

layered brick by brick from her pain, her grit, and a thousand no’s turned into fuel.

She reminds me that softness and strength can live in the same skin, that a woman can run

the game that a man does and do it better, that brilliance doesn’t wait to be invited. It arrives.

When I watch her move her hips, delicious curves putting you in a trance,

her glossy lips spitting venom so seductively, her pretty brown eyes glowing like a goddess,

I almost wonder if she is one. The power she holds in her touch, her movements, her voice, her taste

it can’t be anything other than the power of a true goddess.

Her presence alone is enough to make my spine straighten,

the sound of her voice makes me remember what I’m made of,

seeing her fire makes me remember where I’m going and why.