Hustlers At Work

Her fingers

Dancing fast on the keyboard

Her brain

Running Faster than Usain Bolt

With no chance of an error

Had me in awe even more

Presumed to be a bimbette 

She's a developer hardcore

Though her face radiates in the sweaty glow

Her palms delicately manoeuver the dough

Was earth baked the same way or

Was the sun cooked on the same stove?

Evenly roasted yet blazingly soft

I promise it's not a hyperbole

Misunderstood for just a wife at home

Amongst silver, she's a sorcerer stone.

Wearing 50 coat of makeup, 

Take after take

And Christmas tree of an attire

Seldom gets a break

Reads 200 pages of scripts

To memorize her dialogues

She slogs her ass for 12 hours.

Comes home at 12

Goes through her tomorrow's script regardless

Playing a vamp, she's often referred to as classless

breadwinner for home amidst financial stress

So what if her character is a hot effing mess.

In this brittle world

Made Of everything that breaks

I see a million Women

Aiming for high Stakes

Hardly whine or play or

Or cry in dismay 

Fixings the loose ends

They spend an entire day

With blood and sweat

And sometimes both

They crumble in silence

But never self loath

To these women

Who hustle

I envy them all

But deep down,

When words fall short

I know I am in awe...