Image by Tadej Blažič
Why should I make myself invisible?
Me, soaked in gold. Me, with enough pockets
to hold all my bill money. Play money, too.
I might fuck around and buy
a pair of heels to match my fly.
I don’t mean to brag, but it is
what it is. Gone are the days
when somebody think they own me.
My reputation walk in the room
before I do. I don’t even wave
hello anymore; just strut in
—hand out, palm up—
before finding my place
under the spotlight.
