Fake

She drives around town with
An unlit cigarette in between her lips,
She thinks it makes her cool, I guess,
To prove it she asked me to buy her weed,
But I’ve never seen her inhale.

Finally, she parks in front of a motel,
There’s a sign saying no vacancies,
That’s always her intended destination
She asks me if I want her, expecting a yes,
Then takes off her top when I don’t answer,
And I ask her exactly what she would do,
If I lied and told her I was wet,
I don’t see her again until noon.

In the meantime I slid into the back seat,
More comfortable than her bed could ever be,
And I take out my phone to text Natalia,
She calls me a princess, tells me I’m funny,
And the compliments feel like a hallucination.

Of-course, after sleeping in the bed
Of a man willing to take off his wedding band
For hours at a time, or minutes as it may be,
She feels offended that I want someone else,
(Heterosexuality can’t compete with her narcissism)
And kicks me right out of her car.

Little girl, little girl, will you ever learn,
That if you throw enough punches,
Someone will finally hit back?

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