It’s almost funny, really—
the way some women act,
as if I’m prowling after their beloved,
Like I woke up this morning
and put “homewrecker” on my to-do list
right between yoga and green juice.
Please.
I don’t chase crumbs
when I dine with the whole feast.
Scarcity makes people twitchy,
insecurity writes wild fiction,
and suddenly I’m the villain
in a story I never auditioned for.
I laugh—because it’s child’s play.
Little sandbox squabbles
over plastic castles
When I’m already building kingdoms
with brick, fire, and spirit.
Here’s the truth:
What’s mine already bears my name.
It does not need guarding,
nor suspicion,
nor side-eye glances tossed like confetti.
There is plenty, darling.
Always plenty.
And when abundance is your native tongue,
Jealousy just sounds… foreign.
So let them fret,
let them clutch,
let them whisper.
I’ll be over here,
shining too bright to notice—
and far too sovereign to care—
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