how DARE me not allow you to squeeze on my ass .
no , really . who am i to think that my behind belongs to me and that i have a say-so about it ?
"Eh yo" the boys scream as they prick me with their hollow eyes.
so ... i continue to walk .
you see, for eighteen years i was called 'stevi' & i didnt know i had a new name .
then the howling begins . it becomes expected after a while, like the lady who screams every sunday at church . same volume, same pitch, same words . the norm .
they try to convince me that i aint that cute .
i aint gotta be so stuck up .
"Why you Spelman girls gotta be so sadity?"
i turn around and think .
dignity or safety ? can i keep my respect and my life at the same time ?
i remember that girl in LA . she told him no, so he shot her in the head.
remember that girl ? she hurt his pride so he hurt her back . an 'uneven'
exchange if you ask me.
between the beer battered breathing on my face, the snatching of my arms until i jerk back, the sniffing of my hair, the 'accidental' feeling of my butt, and the coincidentally abnormally extremely long time it takes for a guy to pass behind you at the club, you lose your expectation for niggas .
thee end :]
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