Pixelated Prince

Have you ever been underestimated by someone who thinks they can measure you by their own limited standards? This poem takes aim at those who reduce people to labels, stereotypes, and numbers. It’s a declaration of breaking free from their narrow definitions and stepping into your own power, as you reclaim your narrative.

I’m done playing by your tired old rules,
Go ahead, dip your pen in ink pots of dolls.
Hide your random wealth in cryptos and shells,
Your game’s just as shallow as the lies you tell.

I make and break my own damn image,
No labels are needed to pen my lineage.
They shift with every word I speak,
From prayers whispered to nights dressed chic.

Oh, you flaunt, taunt, and rate me like a show,
Boosting some TRP—but who even knows?
While you brag about code and your so-called might,
Acting like God’s gift to JavaScript nights.

Stick to your numbers, your screens, and your tests,
Your zeros and ones—there, you’re the best.
But out here, in the world of flesh and soul,
You couldn’t even begin to play the role.

A real woman isn’t pixels for your mind to tweak,
She is a storm, galaxy—fierce, unique.
So take your bravado, your brag, and your jokes,
And shove them right where your WiFi chokes.

Because while you’re lost in your glowing abyss,
I’m out here reclaiming all that you missed.
Power, grace, fire—my story’s begun,
And trust me, darling, I’m the real one.

Do you let others define you by their own rules, their standards, their screens? Or do you rise above, showing the world who you truly are—fierce, unique, and unapologetically yourself? How do you reclaim your power when the world tries to shrink you to fit into their boxes?

Comments

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.

Polished Sins

A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

Till You Sing

Some would say men went to war for women like you, But I would still choose war if it meant choosing you. You say you write in amorous lines, But I would let you be the woman of my tribe. You had your adventures Under The Buda Moon, But have you been loved past noon? So I can see you shine like a magical flower, In the quiet warmth of the golden hour. The invisible strings pull at my heart Can I do justice to your name? Caress you right, Till you sing like a Carnatic hymn. Inspired by the author of Under The Buda Moon, Veena Rao

Cruising Alone

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