Cruising Alone

  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.

  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...

  You crave a woman's touch, You crave a lover's skin brush, Yet you never adore or respect her, All you do is lust over her. You lecture on love, As though you understand its depth, But you disrespect her very existence, Then pretend you know its breadth. You call it a genuine connection, But it's just a disguise for your desire, Hiding behind words, masking the truth, A hunger that only feeds your fire. You speak of need and long for her grace, But what you want is to take, Not to cherish or honour, Just a feast to partake. You don’t see her as a woman to adore, Only a prize to be won, And in the end, you're the one to destroy, What could’ve been, what should have been spun. You pretend to be “the nice guy,” But you’ll never treat her right, You want her to be your conquest, Not your equal in the light. So stop calling it love, Stop calling it connection, When you only see her as a reflection Of your animalistic obsession.

  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.

  Go ahead, flaunt the size of your wallet, I was never in it for your pocket, Because I don’t “phasao a man” nor view them as a “catch.” Ah, the false notion you have— That you were the one who brought me down to my knees, As if I was hopelessly in love with you. If only you could comprehend what was really beneath the surface. It wasn’t about losing myself in you, But in losing my purpose. If you think it was all for you, Let me make it crystal clear: I wanted to burn my skin off, To rid myself of the stench of what you think you touched. This was never about your age, race, or face. It was about the rhythm of your aura, And how your energy consumed mine, Pulled me into its pace, Until I could no longer remember my own. You mistook my confusion for submission, But what you didn’t see was the storm raging within. Your power was nothing more than an illusion, An empty shell that I once thought I needed. But now, I see through it— And realize my worth was never tied to your validati...

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 is my way of confronting a chapter of my life that was both agonizing and transformative. It’s not just about heartbreak—it’s about the lies, the power dynamics, and the twisted emotions that left me questioning myself. The Corpse Bride isn’t just a metaphor; it’s how I felt—like someone stuck between the death of who I was and the birth of who I’m meant to be. Writing this isn’t about revenge; it’s about reclaiming my voice, my story, and the parts of me I thought I’d lost. A boy who tried to find pleasure in someone else's lap, Told me I should rise up from my nap. I would have left this alone if you did not try to bring me down, And then said Indian girls make you frown. A boy who acted as if he was superior, As if everyone he came across should kiss his posterior. I am not the girl you thought I was, Well, who told you that you were my boss? Oh, I was in insurmountable pain, But you talked about your "fayada" and what you can gain. You called me crazy, a wh...