More than a figure type. More than my bust measurements. More than my bold legs. More than the light skin tone. More than my chubby frame. More than all of these.
I’m more than a cook. More than a baby carrier. More than the length of hair I wear. For I’ve got depth and content with roots that go all the way down.
I have a brain. One that’s working, analytical and super smart. I am a voice. Loud and powerful. Powerful beyond words can express. I have skills. I fail and succeed. I have abilities. I climb trees and scale high walls. I make money and lose the same too. I discuss politics with your kind and sip alcohol just like you.
I have a pair of eyes – one that’s very observant and keen on details. I have a future with a big bucket list. Big enough to swallow you. Scary goals and career projections. I’m a human being, just like you, only a little different or better.
I’m more than my clothes. Way more than the cheap plate you use in bribing me. A lot more than the hungry-looking, thin naira notes you squeeze into my hands. I’ve got investment portfolios. Real estate and precious gold call out to me. These are worth more than those urgent 2k notes. And I’m worth a zillion-dollar buck and more. You can’t even grasp it.
Stop the droll. Close your mouth, you’re not a dog. Need I remind you? I’m not a plate of sumptuous meals to be consumed no matter how enticing my scent may be and spicy my look may come off. I’m flesh and blood. A human being, just like you. Not an instrument to be used and flung out of the window. One used for mere pleasure. I’m not a toy. I’m not an inanimate object. I have emotions and I process thoughts. I have fears, insecurities and a few pieces of baggage.
Share your dreams with me. Have a seat, let’s talk like man to man. Don’t let me win the argument because ‘I am a woman.’ Ignore the space in between my legs and the glow of my tender skin, let’s rub minds together without being sensual. That part of human life is reserved for your spouse at home and not for females at the office or on the street.
I have a tribe that loves me. You read that right, love not lust. They aren’t manipulative with their acts of love in exchange for sexual services. They respect principles. They keep to their words and are consistent with their talks. Unlike you.
They know I’m more than my physique. We all are. A story. A past, present and a future. So dare pin me down for present-day sexual gratification then I’ll hate you for life.
And for every female you come by, dare to look beyond their physical. Self-control is the word. Recall they are daughters, wives, mothers, presidents, great politicians with careers, technocrats in the bud, business tycoons and not sex tools for the satisfaction of your raw hunger and thirst. And even if you’re hungry, mask it up. Remind yourself that you are with a colleague, not your spouse or lover. The latter should satisfy you, not the former. In case the hunger pangs persist, the Chicken Republic is always a stone throw and your kitchen is too.
Don’t give me that ‘I fall for what I see’ line. Are you a city without a wall for discipline? Then walk around the streets naked cause that’s what you portray when you act without discipline.
Remember rightly when next you meet a female. We are more. We have roots that run deep and potentials that go all the way down, beyond the reach of your myopic views. Stop passing those glances at us.
We are more. We are beautiful and powerful. And our physical looks have little to do with this. So when next you see us, remember these. We are not tools. Nor mere figurines. We are human beings, just like you.
Don’t ever think you can buy our love with some slim wad of cash. Don’t even pretend you want to give an innocent hug. We know where those hugs lead to, we know what they do to your testerones. They make it leap like a happy frog for joy. So, if you ain’t satisfied with a handshake, then to hell with you!