Cruising Alone

  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...

  Actions speak louder than words, But my words will bring your actions out in the open. Kept calling me crazy, Maybe your memory is hazy. No, I won’t back down. Go ahead and frown. Try parading her, Because you only enjoy crumpling every fleur. Then act like a good guy, Laugh out loud thinking you hurt a woman’s ego—a big sigh. Everything that suits you goes by your choice, Yet you treat girls like one of your toys. Boys like you who think they’re doing a favour, When they talk to a woman with respect. Believing that since Maa Lakshmi graces your pockets, You can go around poking your rockets. But your souls are blind and have marbles in those sockets. Did I show my true colours? Go ahead then, build up your case. Sure, I am the one who is such a disgrace. Actions speak louder than words, But my words will bring your actions out in the open. Equating a woman’s worth with words like “tight,” And you think I am always ready to fight and have lost my sight. But you’re a big meat of c...

Have you ever been underestimated by someone who thinks they can measure you by their own limited standards? This poem takes aim at those who reduce people to labels, stereotypes, and numbers. It’s a declaration of breaking free from their narrow definitions and stepping into your own power, as you reclaim your narrative. I’m done playing by your tired old rules, Go ahead, dip your pen in ink pots of dolls. Hide your random wealth in cryptos and shells, Your game’s just as shallow as the lies you tell. I make and break my own damn image, No labels are needed to pen my lineage. They shift with every word I speak, From prayers whispered to nights dressed chic. Oh, you flaunt, taunt, and rate me like a show, Boosting some TRP— but who even knows? While you brag about code and your so-called might, Acting like God’s gift to JavaScript nights. Stick to your numbers, your screens, and your tests, Your zeros and ones—there, you’re the best. But out here, in the world of flesh and soul, You co...

How often do we give our warmth and care to those who never truly value it? When does a woman’s kindness turn into a force of reckoning? To the boy who saw a mother In my warmth, my care, like no other— You leaned in close, wide-eyed and free, Sipping on love like sweet honey tea. Did you think I’d raise you strong, Hold your hand, hum you a song? Feed your dreams and stroke your pride, While you danced in and out like the tide? I gave you light, a mother’s grace, Held your fears, kept steady pace— But look here, darling, make it clear: This mama’s wrath is near and dear. If babes of mine I’ll never hold, Then I’ll craft a payback, fierce and bold. For every tear, for every sigh, For every heart, you left high and dry. I’ll be the thorn in every scheme, The storm that floods your sweetest dream— Not ‘cause I’m broken, cold, or bare, But ‘cause I’m fire in the midnight air. So cheers to you, who played the part, Wore my kindness like a borrowed heart— But mama’s done, and oh, beware, Fo...

How often do we see men pretending to be saints, only to reveal their true colours when the mask slips? Have we forgotten the price of their hollow promises? You made beds with a pro, thought you were a hunk, Stumbled home drunk, all swagger and funk. "Trust me," you said, "shower me with love," As if loyalty is a gift sent from above. The boy who "hates" my tears, oh, what a show, But laughed loud and clear at my screams, you know. "Anything for you," you said, such a saint— Yet broke me by phone, with fruit chaat as paint. Smirking, "I’ve got a meeting," what a line— While I drowned in my pain, you sipped your lime. And now you want babies, a fresh new start, Praying to gods you made me hate in my heart. Audacity, dear, should be your middle name, You play the victim but fuel the flame. Man of the hour? Oh, what a disguise— Your greatness ends with your own hollow lies. How many times have we seen men like this, using charm and lies t...

There are moments when people try to reduce you to something less—less than human, less than deserving of respect. This poem stands as a fierce reminder that boundaries and dignity aren’t negotiable. Easy, isn’t it, to dismiss my anger— To call me vile, evil, a temper tantrum’s danger? But let me ask you, mister, Would you take it lightly if someone Spoke of your mother this way? "Only sex, only sex," As if I’m here to fulfil every primal reflex As if my worth starts and ends in a bed, As if I exist just to feed your head. Mature, you say? "It’s just a joke." Your immaturity leaves me choked. Would you call it joking around If the same venom was thrown at someone You call your own? And then the mockery: "Better a hooker, peaceful and free." If that's your truth, then by all means, Go sleep with a sex worker, Because that's her profession—not mine. She, with dignity, does her work. But I am no machine, no hired perk. I am human, with breath, with dr...

Some people weave their lies with smooth words, hoping to shape you into something you’re not. They prey on your vulnerability, believing you’re an easy target. But what happens when the truth rises, and the lies fade away? Good boy. The words slip off your tongue Like oil on water, Masking the truth That clings to your fingers— Dirty, grasping, cold. You called yourself my friend, Whispered your way into my cracks, Where monsters used to live, And built a new kind of hell. A woman, you thought, Too fragile, too broken, A low flame; easy to snuff. But you forget: A smouldering ember burns hotter than fire. You sought to carve me into shame, Your hands measuring my worth Against the curve of your lust. But this skin—my skin— Is not yours to claim. Do you see me now? I’ve stepped out of the shadows you cast, Standing taller than the lies you tell yourself. Your "Momma’s good boy" act Won’t save you from the truth: You are no man. And I— I am no one’s prey, No one’s guilt to car...

So you were ashamed 'cause you slept with a hooker? Pretty sure she regretted having you as her looker. You think you're a hottie, strutting around all cool, But you hide your flaccid excuses behind that paycheck tool. You really thought you owned me—oh, what a joke! Now you flaunt your toned body like you're bespoke. Better? Maybe. Braver? Never. Let’s tell the world: you’re a coward, forever. Oh, the boy with mommy issues, so cliché, so trite, Thinking your Western rating could make you Mr. Right. You thought I cried because I wanted you so? Nah, honey, you were more of a haunted "no." A dream? Please, don’t flatter your fragile esteem. You were the villain in my frightened scream.

  They sit in circles, patting backs, Whispering tales of their so-called attacks. "Breaking a woman," they say with pride, While hiding their ignorance deep inside. Their mothers taught them they’re gods on a throne, While teaching girls to stand alone. Self-respect in a woman? That’s called a flaw— But their ego? Protected by unspoken law. They say they admire a woman’s mind, Yet mock her strength and try to bind. Call her “crazy,” “obsessed with pride,” When their own insecurities they can’t hide. In the locker room, they measure worth, Boasting of dominance, power, and mirth. Yet real women aren’t ranked on a scale, No prizes to win, no points to nail. They ask if we pray, or if it's just for show, While scriptures and verses they don’t know. Lecturing on faith they don’t own, Judging our values, but hiding their own. They’d say it’s “Kalyug,” and things are grim, An excuse for hypocrisy buried within. Star Wars tales borrowed from Vedic lore, But they’d teach us reli...

Oh, you value your peace, claim you’re above all the noise, Yet here you are, defending your honour and your boys— Cristiano or Messi, the battle’s your creed, You’d wake the dead just to argue whose speed. But when I speak, suddenly I’m “too much,” Emotional baggage that just needs a crutch. Call me a saddle, call me a rein— You’ve got tips for managing my pain. Meanwhile, you’re calling me up at 3 a.m., loud, To shout that your G.O.A.T. made the whole stadium proud. Oh, now who’s dramatic? Who’s drowning in feelings? I get it, I get it—your hero’s ideal. My emotions, you say, are a storm to be quelled, Yet you’ll raise a glass when the trophy is held. How brave, how noble, to praise from afar— Does your screen worship make you a star? When I need a word, a hand to hold tight, I’m “needy,” I’m “clingy,” I’m just not right. But my friend, my dear, take a seat and behold— Emotions are human, they’re not bought or sold. So cheer for your player, debate who’s the best, But don’t come for ...

  He, with his wallet, buys a thrill, Thirteen grand for a night to kill— But call him out, oh, don’t you dare, Suddenly, you’re “crazy,” unfair. The same guy who taught me to assert, Now scolds my voice, calls it perverse. “Don’t you have chores or better things to do? Try finding a guy who’ll put up with you.” Funny, how “peace” is all he seeks, While planting chaos, snide critiques. Says he’s here for “mental health,” While gambling mine to boost his wealth. Boundaries? Oh, they’re fine for him— But if I protest, it’s “Just another whim.” He lectures me on how I should behave, While stashing his dignity in a shallow grave. So here’s to the “mentors” who teach and preach, Who claims “assertive” yet cowers and screechs. Stakeholders, executives, suit and tie— Funny how high that ladder is when built on a lie.

  All they do is rinse and repeat, Leave a heart on the floor, then sweep it neat. Each woman tossed in the “crazy” bin, While they play saint, parade their wins. They wear the badge of “model men,” With arm candy polished again and again. Strutting like they’re society’s pride, But burying love, innocence, and light inside. Oh, “she’s crazy,” they’ll nod and say, Ignoring the games they chose to play. It’s always us left in the dark, They stroll off, leaving the spark. Well, call us crazy, We are done for good— No more trust be misunderstood. The “model men” can have their show, We’ll keep our light, no need to glow.

  A guy born from an Indian womb, Shaming another Indian woman—how crude. No shred of originality within you, Yet you say I’m the one losing control. Your ego, your misogynistic tricks, It is clear to me and easily fixed. Now you think you see the world anew, But you're just catching up to my point of view. You were the one crippled by your own shame, And thought I wanted you for your name? I let go of every jibe you threw, A simpleton with hardly any of his own views. But did I ever look down on you? No—yet you do, to those not at your level. You measure by the surface, the height, the face, But depth is something you can never embrace. I felt all the pain deep in my bones, And you think I can’t take on your tiny pebbles and stones? You throw your words like they’ll tear me apart, But I’ve weathered storms, and you’ll never touch my heart. Will I let this go? I stand up to people twice my size, Because justice denied is justice died. The audacity of you to say my care ...

You thought you were the boss, strutting around, But your flaccid game was the weakest in town. Called me psycho, called me lame, But boy, you're the one still playing the same old game. F you, BB, You ain’t worth a dime, let me school ya. You wanted a mom, you wanted to tame, But you couldn’t keep up—boy, you were done! I had a fever, burning at 102, And you cried over dust—like, really dude? One guy touches your junk in sleep, I’ve dealt with piercing stares since I was three feet deep. F you, BB, Your tears ain’t my damn criteria. You tried to flex, but you were a bore, While I was the party, you were just a chore. While you were laughing, chilling in Kasol, I was trapped in nightmares, losing my soul. Dreams of being tied, my mouth shut tight, Raped over and over, no voice to fight. You laughed, you laughed, thinking it’s all play, While every night, I woke up in dismay. Couldn’t even clap back with savage replies, Used my words just to prop up your lies. I was sick for weeks, ...

There is no understanding of your useless riddle, I am not playing the second fiddle. I am sure you just like the attention, And I need a serious intervention. There is more to me than my intellect, If you ask me things, I might deflect. Since the monsoon of 2022, You covered all your tracks and I had no clue. When I started to heal, You showed who you are when you had your last meal. You can't take any credit for what I overcame, I am done burning my wings, like a moth to a flame. You can live in your days of yore, I am cruising my sails and reaching the shore. ~ Kanika Kaushal ✨ The Luminous Muse