Nicole Johnson

I sit.
I breathe.
I eat.
I drink you in.
Batting my lashes in hopes of you noticing all five-foot-seven of me.
I’ve got legs and curves like they do.
What do they have that I don’t?
Is my dress too close to my knees and my breasts not bursting at the seams?
Is that what it takes to get your approval?
Shall I straddle you on the bar stool as I lift my dress just far enough to leave you gasping with questions while your mind goes into overdrive wondering what you’re missing?
Shall I dance on top of the bar top provocatively as I slid down into the arms of strangers that place money into my bra ever so eagerly?
Will that make you happy?
I’m not some raunchy sex-crazed woman with low self-esteem.
I don’t need to prance around in my birthday suit to keep eyes gazing.
I command it by simply being me.
A beautiful mind will get you further than a beautiful body that will someday wither.