Can't Feel You Anymore

I can't feel you anymore...

I feel alive again—and so much more.

Everyone can see the shift,

How I smile and laugh once more.

I lost my smile for a while...

Dead eyes, and my soul paid the price.

It drained me dry, took its toll—

Yet you twisted it into some sick goal.

You mocked my rants,

Because all you cared about was the girl in hot pants.

That motherly care you swore was rare—

Yet you pick another, as if we’re all on some timeshare.

I was on the floor...

Now I rise, ready to stomp once more.

When I burned with rage,

You made vile remarks about my age—

As if I were on a stage,

As if I were meant to rot in a cage...

And now you preach like you were always a sage.

You want to preserve your unborn child...

I hope she reads this all one day,

A legacy of tears you can never hide.

Not just for one, but for all—

Who acted as if this witch deserved to be burnt.

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Polished Sins

A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

Stay Away

Stay away, stay away Keep those hands away Stay away, stay away I am not on display Stay away, stay away I just want my name on the hard black clay Stay away, stay away I am a kid who just wants to play Stay away, stay away All these memories are like a never-ending screenplay ~ Kanika Kaushal ✨ The Luminous Muse

Model Men and Their Modern Myths

Here come the men who love their pride, With “culture” on speed dial, their mothers beside them. They want a wife who’ll light the lamp, While they scroll through pages of virtual vamp. They call themselves leaders, oh so wise, But sex ed is a topic they just despise. If you ask them about anatomy's flow, They’ll stammer, then boast about paychecks to show. Progressive now, they’ll have you believe, Because daughters study, and daughters leave The home to work—but don’t go too far, Or they’ll pull you right back by some invisible bar. They crave the respect, the honour, the fame, Yet when faced with real talk, they’re quick to shame. These "modern men" with their ancient views— One foot in the past, and the other confused. Oh, fools of entitlement, kings of the mud, With egos so fragile, they’re bound to flood At the slightest nudge of applied insight— They’ll laugh, then pull you out of their sight. So here’s to these men, these leaders so grand, With “values” in one, ...

Cruising Alone

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