Spoken Word — “GOAT in Lambskin”

It was the first night.
I was alone with a man of the cloth…
intentionally.

Now don’t get it twisted—
I’ve been in rooms with these men my whole life.
Titles. Collars. Oil on their fingertips.
Voices trained to sound like certainty.

But none of them ever made me want to put panties on
just so he could take them off with his teeth—
and still sound like heaven was happening in his mouth.

See… that’s what shook me.
Not the temptation.
The timing.
The intention.

So I stayed what I am—
The GOAT wrapped in lambskin.
Quiet. Watching.
Not hiding…
just studying.

Because I knew what night I was walking into.

And I played with him a little—
“Baby… you sure you want this sweet thang?”
‘Cause she trained.
Dedicated.
And she doesn’t miss a chance to prove a point.

But he didn’t listen.

For some reason, this beautiful-ass man
thought he was ready for Rosemary’s baby
without checking the maiden name.

Without asking what bloodline he was touching.
Without knowing what happensWhenn a woman has been made to sit still and swallow sermons
but learned how to turn every lesson into power.

Because Hardy blood hit different.
It doesn’t beg.
It doesn’t chase.
It doesn’t break.

It witnesses.

And that night…
I wasn’t some mistake he could pray away in the morning.
I wasn’t a confession.
I was a revelation.

A holy contradiction.
A warning wrapped in perfume.
A scripture he couldn’t quote his way out of.

And if he tells this story years from now—
If he tries to turn me into a testimony
or a “temptation” he survived—

let him remember this part right:

I never went in as a victim.
I went in as the point.

And I left him weak…
happy with delight…
speaking a language he didn’t even know he knew.

Amen.