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

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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