The Other Side

When I was quieter, more reserved, and unable to communicate the depths of my pain, they called me calm, motherly, and nurturing. They admired what they saw as my gentleness, unaware of the storm I kept buried inside. But when I finally began to stand up for myself—to voice the ways I had been hurt, the pain I had endured, and the things I had dealt with—I became a “psychopath,” a “nutjob,” someone to be pitied. Suddenly, I had “no self-esteem,” and my assertiveness was too much for them to handle.

Isn’t it ironic? The very person who said I needed to stand up for myself tried to snuff out my voice the moment it became inconvenient for them. They talked about being a “good person,” about respecting women because they had a mother and a sister. But where was that respect when they mocked my pain, dismissed my struggles, and invalidated my truth? This poem is my response to their hypocrisy—a voice they couldn’t silence.

So, when I tried to confront you with all the ways you hurt me,

With your unkind and judgmental words, your shallow superiority,

And your distorted idea of gender equality—

You dared to say, “Hey, back off. Don’t let me speak up in regretful ways.”

Was that a challenge, a warning, or your toxic masculinity on full display?

Do you think I was not being gentle with my alluring femininity?

When I let you get away with all the ways you tried to underestimate me,

Tried to brag about how you got a new woman with a sexier bod…

Does she also have to deal with your boneless rod?

I tried a lot of times to keep it civil,

But you kept poking the inner devil—

Testing patience, pushing boundaries,

Until it was all I could do to keep from unravelling.

What did you say to me that you had judged me enough?

Do you honestly think picking on me makes you sound tough?

Do you feel proud of your games, "Mr. Jaat"?

Or is it just your ego that makes you act?

Ohh, you put me in so much pain in my prime,

And you think you can scare me with cybercrime?

You do not like to beat around the bush,

And I was never a fragile rosebush.