Be A Son Or Insane Woman

Born the elder of two girls, I thought,

"Be strong, be wise, for who else would take care of them?"

So I studied hard, played sports to build muscle,

Not for joy, but survival.

Yet someone's son says I was always an insane woman.

I ignored the indecent touch,

Kept my skirts in the drawer and wore cargo pants instead,

Silent, because I couldn’t risk losing my freedom—

The freedom to complete a school project.

So I collected A’s, never rants,

But someone's son says I was always an insane woman.

I became a shield, a safe haven,

Protecting those who sang in their innocence.

Yet someone's son says I was always an insane woman.

I befriended men others scorned,

Thought kindness could mend wounds—

But instead, I was wounded.

Sexually assaulted by one I tried to defend.

Still, someone's son says I was always an insane woman.

At 25, exhaustion clung to me like a shadow.

Couldn’t even learn the violin without

That middle-aged man stealing my dignity.

Yet someone's son says I was always an insane woman.

I gave compliments, harmless words to see others smile,

But they twisted them into invitations

To their porn-fed fantasies.

Still, someone's son says I was always an insane woman.

I never leaned on them,

Never groped or claimed their bodies as resting posts,

But someone's son says I was always an insane woman.

When depression called,

I spoke of psychology, piecing together my trauma

And theirs too, in quiet understanding.

But someone's son told me,

"Focus on chores, not thoughts."

Yes, I am insane because I believed

That loving one of you would protect me from the rest.

But even then, you turned to me,

Said I could never do better,

And that your growth was your triumph alone.

I remain the insane woman

While you walk away, better because of me.

Not for pity or for revenge nor for fake empathy,

This is just for me…

THE INSANE WOMAN.

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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