The One Who Defines Me

Would you like to explore societal norms, gender expectations,
Or personal struggles against limiting beliefs?
I’ll tell you one thing, but you better listen—
I won’t let you define me, not even for a second.

The body you lusted for is a body I hated being born in.
And you laugh, saying you "hurt my ego" and "hit me below the belt."
Did I harass you?
Are you going to talk about equality and respect with me?
Have you ever respected anyone for simply existing?
No, you have not.
Because every time, it's: "What do you have to offer? Your 'fayada'?"
Or "Why should I come to you? What do you even have?"

If that is the case, then I had no fat on my chest as a kid too,
But that still did not stop a man.
Or when I was simply walking down the street,
And a man groped me between my thighs in broad daylight.

And you still think I wanted your money?
That you would be good for my image?
You, who crave money, power, and status,
So a policeman doesn’t stop your vehicle,
So you are free to do whatever you want.

You, who flex your muscles,
Brag as if you are in peak masculine form,
While I seek power so no one silences the voiceless.
While I seek wealth, not to flaunt,
But to help those who truly need it—
Once my basic needs are met.

You collect expensive watches
So the world sees you’ve made it.
I invited you so you could have a home-cooked meal.
A friend.

You, who affected my health, then mocked me,
"I won’t buy a lightsaber."
Do you even know why I was collecting toys?
So any child who came to play would always have one.

You, who tried to break my spirit,
Now say I wanted your money?
If you have the guts,
Donate the amount you think I was worth.

I would have let this go,
If you had not hurt my very core.

Unlike you, I was never trying to be Mahaan,
Or chase fame for the sake of it.
I was once a kid, but you seem to have forgotten that.
You only use "baccha tha" to escape responsibility.

And as for my behaviour?
Go ahead.
Put me in jail.
I dare you.

Now you say you are a better man because of me?
Good for you and your family.
That’s what you wanted all along—to improve.
But all I wanted then
Were flowers,
And to be loved for who I am,
Not just for what I could do for them.

To be pampered, to be cared for,
To be led, to be complimented on my eyes and smile,
To be cherished, to be heard,
And most importantly—
To feel safe, and feel like home.

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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