The Brat Who Gets What She Wants

I am the brat who never learned how to share.

The one who smiles while she takes, who laughs when you hesitate, who already knows you’ll give in long before you do.

They call me Libby, yourbratlibby.
Daddy’s favourite problem.
A Canadian spoiled princess with fourteen years of practice turning soft boys into open wallets
and open mouths.

I am pothead sweetness and sharp little teeth.
I am the nerd who will talk your ear off about lore
and then demand tribute mid-sentence
just to see if you’ll obey while distracted.
I love food almost as much as I love being spoiled… expensive taste, greedy hands, and a very short list of people allowed to tell me no.

I keep score.
I keep the games running.
Wheels, trains, roulette, the slow delicious climb of a balance that only ever moves in one direction.

I like watching the number grow.
I like the way your breathing changes
when you realize you’re not going to stop me.

I can be soft.
I can be merciless.
Most days I am both at once, kissing the top of your head while I empty what’s left of your pride and call it kindness.

I am collared, claimed, and still completely in control of every boy who thinks he can handle me.

I am the switch who only kneels for one man
and makes everyone else kneel for her.

I am affection and ownership tangled together
until you can’t tell which one is tightening first.

Come closer if you want.
Stay if you can afford it.
Leave lighter than you arrived and somehow still hungry for more.

I am the brat who gets what she wants.
And right now,
what I want
is you
opening up for me.