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...

  So, you say you have a sister, and now you have to take care of another? That you want to live up to your father's name, and you can't read about my pain, and nothing's the same? Did you forget that your father saw his own daughter in me... when we didn't even know if we were supposed to be? And I couldn't even look in my father's eyes... because I trusted a coward's lies... while you went about building his incomplete legacy... My father's head hung low because of your discrepancy. He saw his daughter cry for years... and aren't you the one who said you hated my tears? So go on, take your glass of whiskey and say cheers... because you only made me stronger than my fears. You might have broken me and left me for dead— but always remember: I am a father's daughter. What you broke, he built every day. Blamed himself for my crooked ways. He tried to shield me when no one was around... and you thought you could laugh at me while I was on the ground...

  A boy came to me, asking— "Can you help me improve?" A boy who spent his drunken nights in the arms of a mistress, now claims he was always a good man. He asked me— "Why won’t you play my mother?" Why? Because your parents failed you and your brother? Because you need a woman to mop up your shame while you parade your masculinity and pretend you’ve changed? Well, people are filing FIRs for words filthier than yours. But what about you— the one who left my body wrecked and laughed as I fell? And now you say— "Let it be. Otherwise, who will buy you a lightsaber? Which man will claim you now?" Did that laughter and power disappear from your face now? When you said, "Get lost." When you hid behind your brother’s strength. When you ran, sneering— "Ah, is that why you’re causing trouble? Because you’re not getting money?" Wow. But sure. You are such an amazing man.

  You bow down to a woman, only to do her dirty, Preaching freedom while drowning in hypocrisy. You treat her right when your throat runs dry, Lust-driven hands, masked with a lover’s lie. Did you think she breathes for your vanity? You break her down, then mock her insanity. Does it thrill you, watching her question humanity, While you revel in the comfort of your profanity? You wear your sins like a crown of pride, Hiding behind walls where your cowardice resides. But doesn’t it burn when a woman plays you? Lucky for you, she’s not wielding swords— Or you’d beg for mercy before she slays you. Even Shiva had to bow to still Kali’s wrath— What makes you think you could do a woman dirty And she would go down easy? Me? I could inflict all the pain on you, Be it the trigger's pull or the dagger's kiss, But for now, I hope you die with a thousand cuts, And my words will be forever here— No ointment can heal the stings.

  Where were these so-called boundaries when I was uncomfortable? When I mirrored your behaviour, suddenly I wasn’t normal? Oh no—seems like I "can't handle rejection"? Yeah, yeah, sure… Or maybe I stayed quiet so I wouldn’t create a scene? Tell me then, MR. GOOD CATCH — Why did you think it was alright to stalk my online profile, Inspecting who commented what? Were you not being a creepy little lurker ? But tell me—did you like the taste of your own medicine ? I guess not. When you can’t tolerate seeing your mother and sister suppressed, When you despise the toxic masculinity in a woman— Then why do you violate her vulnerability in the first place? Where did your laughter disappear when I jested, yaar? Why did you suddenly get so serious? Can’t take a simple joke? How sensitive of you. Maybe you’re overreacting… Maybe you should get a therapist yourself. Geez, have some control over your emotions, man. C’mon, give me a smile… You have such a pretty smile… I really liked ...

  Labelling me as a failure, while you stand so fly— Did it not hurt when your father died, and you rushed to marry your sister off? But if you hurt me, does it matter? My father is alive, and I have no blood brothers. Oh, so you were just a kid? And who was I—Erin Brockovich? You felt so cool, asking me— "Have you not watched American Pie?" Now you brag about tasting continental sides, while calling me the one full of lies. Telling girls how they’re tight, how you’d want to do them when you're high as a kite. Did you really think you'd mess with me and I wouldn’t bite? "Are you asexual?" "Are you not finding someone else to sleep with?" Well, can you pass the phone to your mom? I’m sure she’s too tired, raising boys like you while your father left to have a heavenly fondue. Failure? No. That title belongs to the man too afraid to look me in the eye.

  Boohoo to your pity, I can't believe that your name means being virtuous to a certain degree. I can't believe I was so tired of creeps, that I was like whatever let it be. Seriously, the guy who was flaunting about sleeping with two naked women in dreams and I am the one who has lost it seems. Does she know you were bragging about the taste of her cookie? My true colours? Maybe this would make your face shine crimson red. I am weird? Boy, I shine with or without that blush. I am not that woman who ever wants your money, go pander to people who wanted to be your friend because your name was higher on that coder list. You think I was calculating to be your friend? I simply decided to be your friend. You think I couldn't see through the ways you were testing me? To see if I am a gold digger or if I can solve the question of tree. I do not talk in binary. Asking me if I can Google the term "Eat You." Fake? I was simply happy that you had less money as a kid and coul...

  So, you think just because you slept around, Twelve women deep to prove your masculinity, You can shame a woman? Boasting— at least you’re not a virgin? Tapping a woman just to show you’re a man? I guess you skipped chapters in decency and biology. There is no pride in that—be it man or woman. And yet, you preach about being the good guy ? Would your blood still boil if your sister was left high and dry? Or would you blame her— she should have built a home ? Do you think real women are pornstars? The audacity of men like you , Trying to explain a woman’s body to herself. Is your mother still teaching you this? That girl seduced you, enchanted you—for your money? Like seriously? If that were true, Even Fiona wouldn’t have been with the Ogre. You want feminine women, yet ask, do you like to touch yourself? Your mother warned you of gold diggers, But forgot to teach you respect for someone’s daughter? Spare your lectures when it comes to me, I was standing up for other girls— Aga...

  That sick limp d*ck attitude, Thought I should feel gratitude, That you chose me then, wanted me yours, While you had your hands on plenty, always out on all fours. “You’re so nice, I’d love to make you my wife,” What—because you’d already tasted the “cooler” life? Spreading your legs for every girl in your party phase, Now, you think I’m the one to settle and praise? You were quick to play the game, no hesitation in sight, But I’m just the afterthought, the one to make things right. So you admit it: treat women like disposable trash, But when that’s done to you, you get that rash. I won’t apologize for being real, For taking back the power you tried to steal. Go ahead, crawl back to your ex's bed, ‘Cause I'm moving on, without you in my head.

  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 s...

  I never understand it, Why people are so afraid of letting me shine, As if I stole something from them and made it mine. They’d rather have me stay small, Than proudly cheer when I stand tall. I’ve seen this on repeat, Ever since I was born, As if I took something of theirs, Snatched it and made my throne. People won’t tell me things— What if I win? As if I was forcefully put in this skin. I’ve rarely seen people truly appreciate me at all, Yet I’ve seen them try to pull me down in a group, But one-on-one, they’re trying to win my affection, And then label me with duplicitous intentions. They may be sad if I die, But often make sure I never fully thrive. So, I go on and hide, Enjoying all my sides.

  I wish I could be the picture-perfect feminine woman they seek, But I hated every inch of my skin and thought water might make me feel clean. That was when I was only a child, And now they whisper that I'm untamed and wild. Some men might lust over this chest, While puberty left me tired, never at rest. A time when I should have been happy to enter girlhood, But I am still healing wounds way into my adulthood. These kind of guys would tell you, And say, "Tumko uthwa lunga." Yeah, because casual humor about violence against women is the best, And I should smile, right? Or else I’m uptight, humourless, or simply unblessed. They wield their arguments like spears of God, Twisting faith to justify only their plot. Lusting for bodies while fearing the soul, Never adoring the beauty that makes us whole. These so-called "intellectual men," so progressive in mind, Forget their own roots, and leave empathy behind. For they were within a woman to begin, Only when they se...

  Now you are a better man, Because you found spirituality in a foreign land. But aren’t you the one who shamed me once, Claiming I was “old enough” and should have watched porn? Why? Because being a woman who made food with love wasn’t enough? Do you think I needed to be “cool” to have a man? That after every objectifying glance, I had to shape myself—quirky tees, muted dreams, Just to be a shadow of what you demand? You labelled me a gold digger—way to go, divine coder. Was I afraid to ask or learn because I wasn’t a nine-pointer? Shy, not assertive—was that my crime? When I wasn’t sure if I could speak my mind? You enjoyed more freedom and independence than me, But can you even relate to that disparity? I dreamed of strength, of standing tall, Long before I understood these walls. Now you felt violated when someone touched you without consent, But I’ve carried that burden since I was a child— Do you really think I’m fragile? Weak? Do you know what goes on in the back of a woman’...

When I was quieter, more reserved, and unable to communicate the depths of my pain, they called me calm, motherly, and nurturing. They admired what they saw as my gentleness, unaware of the storm I kept buried inside. But when I finally began to stand up for myself—to voice the ways I had been hurt, the pain I had endured, and the things I had dealt with—I became a “psychopath,” a “nutjob,” someone to be pitied. Suddenly, I had “no self-esteem,” and my assertiveness was too much for them to handle. Isn’t it ironic? The very person who said I needed to stand up for myself tried to snuff out my voice the moment it became inconvenient for them. They talked about being a “good person,” about respecting women because they had a mother and a sister. But where was that respect when they mocked my pain, dismissed my struggles, and invalidated my truth? This poem is my response to their hypocrisy—a voice they couldn’t silence. So, when I tried to confront you with all the ways you hurt me, With...

I wrote this poem after listening to Lana Del Rey’s “F ked My Way Up To The Top,” a song that resonated with my own experiences of betrayal and disillusionment.  I guess no one would know, Everyone assumes I am here for a shallow show. Scheming and waiting for the right moment, To put my soul in an endless torment. If that were true, I'd be climbing another pole, Not dig deep and go down the rabbit hole. Easy to throw these pebbles and stones, And I’ll take it until I'm just flesh covered in bones. They say they don’t like my tone, Maybe it’s because I’m in a different time zone. Yeah, love to throw in words like "b*tch" and "wh*re," But they imagined what it would be like to have them on their floor. You talk of God, love, and life partner, Then ask questions like, "What's your favourite colour?" As if I’m a kindergartner. Umm, well I was learning about the xylem, And still, they would have me stay in a mental asylum. Picking on girls with bic...

"Winter’s Tale" - A Song of Betrayal and Rediscovery Set against the quiet chill of a Bangalore December, this piece tells the story of a young woman who, for the first time, let her guard down, only to be met with betrayal. Written in the rhythm of a song, it captures the fragile beauty of trust, the sting of abandonment, and the fierce resolve to rise again. It’s a journey through cold endings and the warmth of self-discovery. Verse 1 He couldn’t believe, someone loved him so, A heart laid bare, but he let it go. Played his games, kept his cards down low, Then threw out names in a cruel little show. Chorus Promises grand, but always a no-show, Words so cold, like the winter snow. He laughs at me, with his Ho Ho Ho, But the truth will shine, let the whole world know. Verse 2 He chased the cash, he chased the fame, But his empty heart just fed the flame. A victim’s mask, his favourite game, While I fell apart, drowning in pain. Chorus Promises grand, but always a no-show, Wor...

In an era where education is often equated with enlightenment , I find myself reflecting on a disheartening reality. Despite being educated in some of the most esteemed institutions in our country, there are still men who carry with them deeply ingrained regressive mindsets — a mindset that sees women not as equals but as possessions , beneath them. This poem is born out of my own personal experiences , where I have encountered men who possess incredible academic talent yet remain shackled by internalized misogyny . For a long time, I was blinded by my own personal and emotional struggles . My own experiences with inequality and misogyny shaped how I viewed the world, and I found myself falling into familiar patterns , even favouring certain stereotypes and justifications. But as I grew, I began to realize that this might not be an isolated case . This pervasive issue extends far beyond individual experiences — it’s a systemic problem that needs to be addressed on a grand ...

It’s hard when you give so much of yourself, only to watch others discard it like it meant nothing. But there’s a fire inside that no one can take away. How do you reclaim your light after someone’s departure? Some people don’t care who they hurt, Chasing pleasures with hearts inert. They leave behind pieces, broken trust, While I’m left grieving, swept like dust. I gave my soul, my love so true, But they just played, then bid adieu. Their hearts were rusted, cold, unkind, Seeking magic I’d confined. They moved on, roles neatly played, While I stayed lost in what we’d made. They took my light, then walked away, Leaving shadows in my day. But I’m not dust to blow apart; I know the strength within my heart. They can’t steal the fire I hold— Even rust can’t dim pure gold. Even in moments of heartbreak, there’s a resilience we often forget to acknowledge. How do you rise after others have tried to dim your shine?