Cruising Alone

  With a single whisper, your pole raises a tent, And you think you're Kal-El or his alter ego, Clark Kent? A guy who thought his stick did the trick, Who thinks he’s smouldering fire—nah, just a thin wick. Not even worthy of the douchey role in a chick flick. The only way you feel like a man is when you have a thick wad of cash, Otherwise, you’re tossed out like someone's Tuesday trash. You treat a woman like a simple accessory, But can't even last long in missionary. So here’s your legacy, stamped and set— A boneless nugget—soft, limp, and easy to forget.

  You may think you broke me with all the cruel words you spoke, but I have always been a Peacock. I leave those love-colored iridescent tokens everywhere I go. Everyone treasures them and makes them forever keepsakes, even if some of you would love to see me burn on stakes. And you may think you made me cry... but I am a Peacock—I thrive in those downpours... You went around lecturing me to focus on simple chores... while you were trying to grind for those plastic crores... But even the Goddess Lakshmi is often symbolized by a Peacock by her side... and even my name means Gold, and you dared to call me a gold digger... So, while you work in stealth, I am the source of never-ending wealth... Because I am a Peacock... A few have explicitly told me that would like to taste my muffins and cakes... But I am like those rare porcelain sets— not for folks like you with your ridiculous schemes and tests. And I am sure your binary brain would go "but Peacock is manly..." True... becau...

With that tiny trunk, you think you’re such a hunk, When in reality, you get passed around like junk. Did you honestly think those bags you carry hold Cheese Whiz? I had to throw away my sheets—what a mess that is. Do you feel proud of the fact you made me cry? Can you tell your in-laws, that you love making big girls cry? Why else would they jeopardize their daughter's life? "A girl who doesn't obey her father, how would she respect me?" Haha, says the one hosting booze parties— Umm, does your daddy know? Me? I learned that swagger from my father, And he stays with his woman, Not running like you to some clueless looker. You didn’t have the guts to face me, Tried to go behind my maker’s back— So don’t you dare come at me Or take my dad’s name in vain, Because you’re not even half the man. Maybe you need to impress with that bank balance, Because personality-wise, you’re an arse. Most people would choose a bear over men like you— Even a wild beast knows loyalty better...

  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.

While watching the Grammy performance of Charli XCX on Disney+ Hotstar, I felt inspired to pen this playful yet sharp poem. This piece is a cheeky response to misguided views on masculinity—delivered with sass, wit, and a little defiance. Only see what you want to see, As if I should be putting a strap-on just to compete. Funny, how guys like you think it’s peak masculinity, When you make fun of a woman, laugh, as if you had her beat, And then go, "Hey, but I didn’t cheat." You think you're a Chad, And I’m the one with the Hatter, a little bit Mad. You think only you have access to the net, And then think that your little boy's attitude makes a woman wet. Like Ron, you have the emotional range of a teaspoon, And you can kiss my curvy moon. You live by seasonal trends, Thinking it’d be so easy to make amends. But you won’t even last a day in charm in the West Coast’s sun, 'Cause all you’re good at is Hit and Run.