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...

  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.

How often are we labelled as victims by those who never truly understand our struggles? This poem is a response to the ones who dismiss our pain, wear false masks of care, and think they can break us. It's a declaration of resilience, showing that every wound only strengthens our voice. You call me a victim, wear pity like a cloak, As if my scars are a story you wrote. Yes, I’ve been wounded, but I’m not weak— Each cut, each tear, made my voice speak. You claim to be a "good guy," parading your lies, But I see through the hollow in your eyes. You play with innocence, mock my pain, Buying toys, taunting, thinking it's a game. "Why haven’t you seen the world of lust?" I navigate shadows; you feed on mistrust. You measure love by the bodies you break, While I rebuild from the ruins you make. You say I don’t know love? Maybe you’re right— I’ve fought to survive, clawing through the night. But you, draped in deception, claim to care, Then chase fleeting warmth in...

This poem calls out the hypocrisy and double standards that persist in the way society views gender roles and expectations. It tackles the challenge of reversing the narrative where men’s actions are often shielded, while women are blamed for their strength and independence. The poem challenges the idea of "reversing the roles" and demands fairness and respect in all aspects of life. Now you lecture me on "reversing the roles," How would it feel if a man bore these tolls? Men have always done this, always taken their share, But now you can't handle a taste of what's fair. You shield their wrongs, these sons, fathers, and uncles, Teachers and friends, their sins in your circles. You speak of respect while they tear us apart, Demanding from us what they lack in their heart. Blame me instead for walking alone, For trusting too freely, for leaving my home. You call me naive for not seeing with scorn, But why should I bear the cynicism you're worn? The world...

I've seen how the stereotypical male mindset has shifted over time, but still, so many carry the same ego-driven attitudes, disguised in new forms. It’s as if nothing has changed, just the packaging. I can't help but question—when will this outdated thinking finally fade? Behold the Desert Ego of old, With pride so grand, with heart so cold, Who laughs at hearts and eyes that weep— As if feeling’s a weakness, for those too deep. He points his finger, judges with glee, "How dare you love? How weak you be!" Yet when we point to his little sins, He stammers, “I’m human—just where to begin?” Oh yes, the righteous, who preach and pray, Then sign deals with devils to get their way— With hands clasped tight, they're holy on display, But slip into shadows when it suits their way. Ambition! He’s got it, can’t you see? A drive so fierce, it’ll set him free! But spare us, please, your noble bribe, When all you chase is your name’s own vibe. He laughs at dreamers breaking mol...

There’s something to be said for seeing through the masks people wear. When the truth comes to light, what’s left behind? Have you ever felt like the watcher, not the fool? I see the human in you—oh, I do, All your vices, and sins, laid bare in full view. Yet still, I find that human trace, While you ignore the monster’s face. You think I’m blind to the tricks you play, To all the sly words and games you sway, Trying to keep me small, under your thumb, But honey, I’ve seen the places you’re from. You feel so free to “be yourself,” Let your demons roam and make themselves felt, While I watch, amused, at your bold display, As you pretend I’m clueless prey. But I’m not the fool you think I am, I see through each carefully crafted sham. You who act so noble and pure— But I’ve seen your kind, that’s for sure. Oh, keep spinning your tangled thread, The webs of lies you’ve so carefully spread. I see the human, the beast, and the act, And I smile, knowing all that you lack. So go ahead, wear t...

It’s strange how the same old narratives seem to play out in cycles, with some men hiding behind power and privilege. But can they truly silence the fight within? When the system fails you, your rage gets a veil, But oh, it’s fine—you’re a man, after all, you prevail. How could they wrong you, the self-proclaimed saint, Now it’s revenge as you brush over your taint. Justice for your man, you cry with a roar, But trample another for your pleasure’s encore. You seek power, and money—oh, such a climb, Oppress your own roots, isn’t that prime? You feel elite now, part of the “meat,” Favours on call just to keep things discreet. But please, spare the theatrics, it’s old, it’s trite, Men like you won’t define my fight. I’ve lived in your shadow, your towering threat, But none of your games can make me forget— You silence my laughter, but never my choice, And none of your power will silence my voice. They can play the power game, but what happens when we stop playing by their rules? Do you th...

Hey there Amazon Worker, Do you think you pulled one over? Mocked my vulnerable side, only to protect your fake pride. I can’t fathom why I ever asked you to pamper and protect. Your wealth was never my concern, yet you watched my trust burn. As I began to share how I felt, you made a snide remark, hitting below the belt. Do you think I care if people change the way they stare? I’m no longer trying to hide; the girl you knew has long died. It’s amusing now that you said I remind you of your mother— What kind of devil hurts the daughter of another? Everyone says to forgive and forget since you were only a child. I would if you didn’t parade your weak masculinity, born of Rothschild. Your false grandeur can’t erase the damage done, I’ve found my strength and my journey’s just begun. If you thought you were good for my image, Know this: my growth surpasses your limits. I’m a woman whose name you can’t tear from the page, And I will stand tall, owning my own stage. ~ Kanika Kau...

  You came to me, asking for mercy, pleading for the sake of your unborn, for the tenderness of your wife, for a forgiveness you say you now deserve, because you were "just a child." But when I was fragile, when I was an open wound in this world, your words were stones and you threw them, your hands were knives and you wielded them. The child in me was buried under bruises you called "just a phase." And now, here you stand, eyes wide, wrapped in the innocence of fatherhood, a child again, you say, looking to me for shelter. But did you forget how you crossed my boundaries, how you fed off my spirit to quiet your own chaos? I see you, cloaked in fresh humility, but my own scars still bleed. How do I forgive what still lives in me, what broke and remade me a thousand times, to suit your whims and ease your fears? This mercy you seek, it isn’t mine to give anymore— not because I am bitter, but because mercy begins with those who knows the price of pain. And you still s...

  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.

  Here come the men who love their pride, With “culture” on speed dial, their mothers beside them. They want a wife who’ll light the lamp, While they scroll through pages of virtual vamp. They call themselves leaders, oh so wise, But sex ed is a topic they just despise. If you ask them about anatomy's flow, They’ll stammer, then boast about paychecks to show. Progressive now, they’ll have you believe, Because daughters study, and daughters leave The home to work—but don’t go too far, Or they’ll pull you right back by some invisible bar. They crave the respect, the honour, the fame, Yet when faced with real talk, they’re quick to shame. These "modern men" with their ancient views— One foot in the past, and the other confused. Oh, fools of entitlement, kings of the mud, With egos so fragile, they’re bound to flood At the slightest nudge of applied insight— They’ll laugh, then pull you out of their sight. So here’s to these men, these leaders so grand, With “values” in one, ...

  A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

  Oh, hail the prince from the desert sands, Where ancient stones still tightly clasp The whispers of those silenced hands— Daughters are buried before their first gasp. Times have changed, or so they say, For they no longer bury in clay, But finds new ways to hollow hearts, Leave women ruined, and torn apart. Such men, draped in gentleman’s grace, Polished shoes and a well-dressed face, Hide behind their coat and tie, As if fabric alone could sanctify. Oh, the ones who strayed and sinned with pride, In liquor’s haze and shadows wide— Now deem a woman's rage as a sign unfit, While they rebrand themselves as legit. Laughing once after they tear women down, Now they smirk beneath their crown. For they are the saint in a well-fit suit, While women are the fool who dared refute. The boys who tried to charm us, cloaked in wealth, With rare perfumes and Banarasi silk for stealth, They think can fill the hollow with what money can buy, Blind to the battles raging in our weary eyes. For wo...

  Oh, how foolish I was, to think These monsters could ever be friends, a link. To see the good, where shadows lie, Believing kindness could make them high. They shame me quick before their crowd, While clutching their dreams, heads proud and loud. Lusting in secret, eyes that gleam— But I’m just the rag in their twisted scheme. They mock my words, my style, my stance, Play puppeteer in their heartless dance. But dare I speak a word unkind, About their mother’s saintly mind? Parade as men with hearts so pure, As daughters dance, their future’s cure. Yet here I stand, the wreckage bare, Of women left in pieces, everywhere.

  Oh, here he comes, suit and tie, The polished guy with a “deal-breaker” cry. Slept around like it’s no big feat, But expects clean hands at every meeting. A single touch and he felt shame, Yet I’ve fought monsters who had no name. He calls me “psycho,” and “a nutjob” too, While I offered warmth—meals he never knew. This is the man who’d drown in gin, Just for a “service” to dive right in. And yet he pities me ? He dares to say— “I’m the failure, just in his way.” Behind that polished, practised grin, He hides, hoping no one sees the spin. He waves his girl, all pomp and pride, Compared to my body, tore my side. But a lightsaber’s what he offered me— A “gift” to soothe my misery. So here’s my wish, you condescending fool: May the world see through your shallow rule.

  Is it not disgusting, To feel the hands of a man you once asked to shield you, Men who roamed freely, exploring bodies without bounds, But turned their words into knives, to shame and belittle, Telling tales of another, "sexier" place to lay their lust, Mocking love like it was a joke between friends. Funny, is it not? When we cried out in agony, they laughed in the arms of strangers, While we clung to the pieces they shattered, They sought warmth in empty sheets, called it their right to "explore," And then returned, expecting sympathy, Claiming they had "learned"—demanding to be seen as human. Yet what kind of human laughs while another suffers? What kind of love thrives on shame? Is it not revolting, the thought of their touch, When all they offered was betrayal, wrapped in the guise of freedom?

  You speak of boundaries, time, and choice, With a polished tongue and a softened voice. You parade as a good son, partner, and friend, But your mask slips and the lies never end. Behind closed doors, you wield your words, A lightsaber of hate, aimed to hurt and burn. "Just shut your face," you sneered at me, And I watched your love turn into cruelty. You praised another’s body to weaken my pride, Sent pictures, and comparisons—cut me open wide. Now you say, “Just focus on chores, that’s your place.” But weren’t you the one who sought a woman of grace? You claimed you wanted strength, a voice with power, But only so you could make her wilt and cower. You preached respect, love, and honour like a saint, But your actions smeared the words with taint. You hide behind the mask of a dutiful son, But if your father saw you, would he be proud of what you’ve done? Did he whisper from the grave, "Avenge me, my son," By breaking down daughters until they come undone? You spe...

  You dared to rate me—5 out of 10, As if I needed approval from broken men. Was your ego bruised when I said you weren’t worthy? Not worthless, no—but lacking in your journey. You hadn’t worked on yourself, not a single step, Expecting me to carry the weight you’d never kept. You wanted a mirror of your teenage dream, But I’d outgrown those days, far from that scene. I wasn’t looking for a project, a boy to fix, While you drowned in booze, pride, and your pornographic mix. You, at 23, asked me to play your mother, After I said no, you still sought no other. Do you think I, as a woman, wanted this load? To bear your baggage while losing my own road? You begged, "Be my mom at least"—what a plea, While I was striving to stay sane, to stay free. Now you look at me with pity in your eyes, Acting like I’m broken, beneath your lies. You said, "Hey, don’t take it personally," with a grin, But you infected my health, tore me from within. It’s personal—deep in my bones, in m...

  You, who threw money at pain to dull it, Spent thousands for fleeting moments of pleasure, Believing it could wash away the shame, While I stood, silent, knowing better. You pitied me? Me, who has felt the cold grip of darkness Since childhood, crying for light when it never came? You think you know suffering, But I’ve seen the face of it, In every tear, every bruise on my soul. You tried to teach me love— As if I hadn't already faced the worst of it, As if my body wasn’t already a battleground, As if I hadn't learned the cost of being a woman In a world that stifles every scream. And yet, you, The one who brags about money and power, Could not face your own emptiness. Telling me I’m less, That I’d need to be someone else, As if I ever wanted to be anyone but me. But your shame? It was always there. I saw it before you could even speak of it. You talk of wealth, Of lightsabers, of pride, But when I cried in pain, where was your strength? Where was your heart? You couldn’t buy...

  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 ...