Sorry Excuse Of A Man

Funny, isn’t it?
When you wanted access to me, I was a babe,
The love of your life, sweet words on your tongue—
But when it came to taking responsibility,
You turned into a child, helpless, undone.

A sorry excuse of a guy,
Who once took pride in standing up to little bro's bullies,
But how does it feel to emotionally bully a woman
And then act like I’m the problem,
While you paint yourself as some kind of hero?

You tower at 6'2", brandishing your might,
Thinking "it" grants you a throne, a right.
But you chased hollow pleasures behind closed doors,
Believing you conquered Venus—
Is that your sad little idea of fame?

You liked me motherly, sweet to touch,
But the moment my claws came out, I was "too much."
In your sadistic world, do you call it love
When you twist your actions, manipulate my words?

You didn’t like it when I mirrored your game,
Suddenly, you’re a man who doesn’t want to beat around the bush—
But if another woman played you at your own game,
She’d be the witch of evil town, shamed and pushed.

It’s easy to blame, to call me unkind,
When I showed you a reflection of your own mind.
You say I’m a storm, a force you can’t bear,
But you thrived in chaos—didn’t you pull me there?

You wore your deceit like a well-tailored suit,
Played the victim, so charming, so astute.
But when I matched your stride, blow for blow,
Suddenly, I’m the one who’s “lost control.”

It’s you, the regressive Indian guy,
Thinking you can just throw money and buy
A woman’s time, her love, her grace,
But you’re just another man, running the same tired race.

Now you act like you’re the better man,
When you’re the one who never had depth or a plan.
You spoke of—a house, a motor—
But never once did you promise a safe space for her.

You thought adding zeroes to your bank would suffice,
Now you gamble on a doctor, rolling the dice.
But I never heard you describe a woman’s real worth,
Because acknowledging that would demand you to be a man first.

Now you dare to preach about love,
When you never understood it, not even a touch.
I was the woman moulding herself for the man I sought,
But you just wanted to put it in whichever hole you caught.

Tell me, was it power you craved, or just the illusion?
Did you think your lies would escape my intrusion?
I peeled back the layers, I saw what you hid,
The scared little boy behind the arrogant kid.

Comments

My Tips Get The Job Done

Boy, you need gold coins and chains, To feel that silky touch. Honey, being with you meant My soul needed a retouch... You might like maple syrup, But I could never build anything with that softwood. It was like babysitting way into my adulthood... You think your presence made it feel like Niagara? Boy, it was drier than the Sahara. Who gave you the license to operate heavy machinery? You never deserved to be anywhere near this sanctuary. Asking women to "blow" you a kiss, When you are the one too "slow" to catch up, And all you are good for is a diss... You need to work because you don't know how real FORCE works. You get high on your stupid WARS — How would you ever know the language of the STARS ? Isn't it funny you were trying to teach me about fingers? When I can get myself to sing more with my ladyfingers ...

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

Call Your Wife... Call Your Mother...

Call your wife. Call your mother. Tell them how you talk to women like me when no one's watching— But of course, I'm the Outspoken B tch*, and you, the Outstanding Gentleman in your suit and tie. But sure— I’d rather be outclass than be hung like sea bass on your trophy wall, smiling silent while you call me “crass.” Your twisted kinks. Your polished lies. You think I won’t roar? That I’ll tuck in my shadow just to keep your sin safe? I own my dark. Loud. Proud. You will not cage me with your guilt-laced chains. If you were so happy choosing her over me, Then go flirt with her . Not me. Don’t you dare come here with your diluted apologies and leftover lust. I’d rather be The villain in your story Than your sidepiece in silence. Because I remember— You were a playboy then , You’re still a playboy now , And every time you smile and say “We’re still friends”… God, I puke a little. You know your name. Don’t play lost boy. Don’t hide behind your “Good intentions.” I used to care...

Cruising Alone

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