Cruising Alone

Hey boy, how’s your Hello Kitty? Always been lame—tell me, is she witty? You go down on her, sure, But can you really make her purr? Once you tasted a sex worker’s thrill, You ran to Seattle chasing a “continental” fill. Don’t we love the truths that cut brutal? Found yourself another to bear your saddle. Before you found a she-horse for your arse, You rode the last one with nothing but farce. Have fun in the land of a fascist, In the end, you are nothing more than a sadist.

  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.

  One fine day, tired of "always my way," I reached for comfort, or maybe just a craving. Picked up a spotted cucumber— Seemed harmless enough, so why not? But the moment I touched it, it pricked. Unwanted timber in my hands, Yet I let it be—what else could I do? Hunger led me to peel its layers, Only to find the filth it hid underneath. Worms writhing where freshness should be, Rot, disguised as something nourishing. I thought it was doing me a favor, But all it did was make me sick. Never knew comfort could leave such a taste— Bitter enough to spill my guts out. Next time, I’d rather reach for something rich, Something warm, indulgent, and worth my time. A smooth, chocolaty éclair— Rather than ever go for such a comfortable, unhealthy affair.

  Well, you’re lucky, I guess— That you never really got into me. Because what would’ve happened? I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing. These words? They don’t touch me. But your ego? That could use a little decomposing. If I were part of the problem, Then where does that leave you? Fumbling through good women, Yet you wonder why you always end up so blue. Oh, yeah— I howl under the full moon’s bloom, Preying and hunting for lamb skin. Aren’t you glad you caught on To my masks so thin? You took one for the team, boy. To you, I was always a faraway dream. Yeah, yeah—go play the fool. Too bad, so sad—not into you.

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.