Pushing Pain in a Prada Skirt

She wore his hoodie like a fuck-you.

Not because it was his, but because she made it look better.

There was something dangerous about her when she didn’t speak.
Like you could feel the bass in the room shift.
Like the silence wasn’t absence — it was pressure.
Thick. Heavy. Waiting.

Tonight, she wasn’t here to cry.

He leaned against the back wall of the party, red cup in hand, pretending the LED lights weren’t giving him a migraine.
She walked in like a siren who forgot she used to beg for his attention.
Hair up. Eyes glazed. Skirt short enough to provoke a memory.
And heels? Heels that had never walked for him, only away.

She knew he was watching.

Two weeks ago, she was screaming in his kitchen.
Not out of anger, but frustration.
She had tried to explain that she loved him but didn’t trust him.
He had tried to explain that he wasn’t used to being needed like that.
So he did what weak men do:
He told her to “calm down,”
and walked away like it was noble.

Now she was back — not to make peace.
But to make him notice.

The bass dropped.
“Turn me on, turn me on g.”
Her hips moved like prayer and punishment.
A kind of rhythm that says I don’t need your hands to feel wanted.

He couldn’t look away.
She didn’t look at him once.

Someone else offered her a blunt.
She took it, lips soft on the filter, not for the high, but for the pause.
She laughed at something he couldn’t hear.
And for the first time, he felt jealous of the moment she was having without him.

He thought she was pushing P.
But what she was pushing was power.
And she was doing it like it had never been taken from her.

They didn’t speak that night.
Not even when she walked past him to leave.
Not even when she turned her head slightly,
just enough to let the scent of her linger.

He stayed by the wall.
Still holding a red cup full of everything he didn’t say.

She pushed the door open.
Pushed her way through the crowd.
Pushed past the version of herself that once begged to stay.

Inspired by Sea 4 Emgodz’s “Pushing P”, a beat for those who stop explaining their worth and start embodying it.