Cruising Alone

  Boy, you need gold coins and chains, To feel that silky touch. Honey, being with you meant My soul needed a retouch... You might like maple syrup, But I could never build anything with that softwood. It was like babysitting way into my adulthood... You think your presence made it feel like Niagara? Boy, it was drier than the Sahara. Who gave you the license to operate heavy machinery? You never deserved to be anywhere near this sanctuary. Asking women to "blow" you a kiss, When you are the one too "slow" to catch up, And all you are good for is a diss... You need to work because you don't know how real FORCE  works. You get high on your stupid   WARS — How would you ever know the language of the STARS ? Isn't it funny you were trying to teach  me  about fingers? When I can get myself to sing more with my  ladyfingers ...

  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.

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.