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."