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 Btch*,
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—

because your mother and I
share the same birthday.
A cosmic thread,
now frayed in every way.
So better—

Stay away.

I’ll crush you

with that AT-AT,
I’ll burn you
with that goddess rage,
and still rise
glorious,
unchained.

Comments

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.

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.

Till You Sing

Some would say men went to war for women like you, But I would still choose war if it meant choosing you. You say you write in amorous lines, But I would let you be the woman of my tribe. You had your adventures Under The Buda Moon, But have you been loved past noon? So I can see you shine like a magical flower, In the quiet warmth of the golden hour. The invisible strings pull at my heart Can I do justice to your name? Caress you right, Till you sing like a Carnatic hymn. Inspired by the author of Under The Buda Moon, Veena Rao

Cruising Alone

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