Nasty Woman

Nasty Woman poem by kaaya Faye

Every morning when she wakes up

Rubbing her eyes, she saunters in the house

Half dreaming, half thinking, she walks

Snapping fingers at her yawning mouth.

Awake and ready for work,

Aiming to be rich,

She walks down the street

Driven by wealth as beggars are by itch.

Women stare as she walks past them

And so do all men.

Frowning at her ritzy clothes

Labeling her a nasty woman.

Spoilt! Flirtatious! Ambitious! Chichi!

Trying to be a man, she is.

What an obscene lifestyle for a woman

She will know when her ego meddles with his.

What can she bring to the table?

Does she even know how to cook?

Look at her smiling and talking to that man

Oh and there she reads those nasty books.

She laughs at the innuendos

Playfully she gets by her day.

But when ticked off,

She rants, angers, and gets things done her way.

She says “no” loud and clear

To men, friends, and relatives.

She is loud, she is modern, she is classic

Sweet medley of salty and sensitive.

She proposes to the man she loves

Sends letters, sends flowers.

Nastier she becomes

Minute by minute, hour by hour.

Her heels click louder

Than the lighter of a smoking man.

They stand taller

Than the dick of Leone’s raging Stan.

She grooms her eyelashes

Higher than the vision of many.

She paints nails, she paints ideas

Making thousands off a penny.

She bathes in confidence,

And dresses in fearless garb.

Nasty or not, she decides for herself

Unabashed by whatever the world may harp.

Tête-à-tête

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