Skip to main content

CharacterLess

 


A guy like you—
who boasts of conquests like trophies—
dares to call me a psychopath?

A guy like you—
who measures his worth by body count—

Do you 
think you can shame me?

A guy like you—
who has built his pride on silencing others—
believes he can shut my voice?

You justify your choices,
wrap them in excuses,
but hold me to standards
you’d never dare apply to yourself.

And I am the one to blame?

Men like you deserve no sympathy.

Oh, you pity me?
I do not need pity
from a man drowning in his own bravado.

The audacity—
to tell me to "calm down,"
to label me hysterical,
to say, “Don’t take it personally.”

Your intentions were pure?
Where was that purity
when I said, I won't be able to take this anymore?

Now you would go on and say
you did everything you could?
But aren’t you the one who was laughing,
mocking me when I was in pain?

I was never afraid to stand up—
not as a child,
not now.

And I sure as hell won’t let you walk away unscathed.

You tried to humiliate my very spirit.
You can call me every name in the book,
but you will never pound your chest
as if you owned me.

Your money, your status—
they will not silence me.

Go ahead,
sell me out,
drag my name through dirt.
I do not care.

I hated every unwanted touch—
and I imagined tap water as the Ganges,
praying it would cleanse the filth.

Because men like you
preach respect when it suits you,
but forget it when power is in your hands.

If you do not want it to be your mother or sister,
then always stay in your lane, mister.

I have zero empathy for men like you.

"You’re 25 and haven’t watched porn?"
As if that should be a measure of normalcy.

If you can’t treat women like humans,
then don’t expect the world to grieve for you
when you fall.

Kept calling me a bitch?
When I wanted to hide from that pervy look
even as a kid?
I couldn’t even dress up for myself
because men like you couldn’t control yourselves.

And now you ask me to control my emotions?
When I cried every night
so I wouldn’t disturb the peace?

I narrated to myself,
thankfully, I am not that beautiful or pretty,
otherwise, I would have been ogled some more.
And you still tried to say how your new girl is sexier.

So I’m immature? Really?
Or did I simply want to make up for that lost childhood—
the one I never got to fully live?

Oh, I didn’t put unrealistic expectations on you, did I?
I didn’t demand you to be “manly” enough
before the frontal lobe even had a chance to develop.
I didn’t expect you to have it all figured out,
to be emotionally mature before the world scarred you,
to handle everything with stoic grace.

If it took me time to mature on certain things,
then how can I expect the same from you?

But guys like you—
you dare to question my intellect,
my humanity?

I do not care how much of a "good guy" you claim to be,
or that tired excuse—"Not All Men."

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular Posts

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 ...
Post a Comment
Read more

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.
Post a Comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more