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...

  Where were these so-called boundaries when I was uncomfortable? When I mirrored your behaviour, suddenly I wasn’t normal? Oh no—seems like I "can't handle rejection"? Yeah, yeah, sure… Or maybe I stayed quiet so I wouldn’t create a scene? Tell me then, MR. GOOD CATCH — Why did you think it was alright to stalk my online profile, Inspecting who commented what? Were you not being a creepy little lurker ? But tell me—did you like the taste of your own medicine ? I guess not. When you can’t tolerate seeing your mother and sister suppressed, When you despise the toxic masculinity in a woman— Then why do you violate her vulnerability in the first place? Where did your laughter disappear when I jested, yaar? Why did you suddenly get so serious? Can’t take a simple joke? How sensitive of you. Maybe you’re overreacting… Maybe you should get a therapist yourself. Geez, have some control over your emotions, man. C’mon, give me a smile… You have such a pretty smile… I really liked ...

  So, you think just because you slept around, Twelve women deep to prove your masculinity, You can shame a woman? Boasting— at least you’re not a virgin? Tapping a woman just to show you’re a man? I guess you skipped chapters in decency and biology. There is no pride in that—be it man or woman. And yet, you preach about being the good guy ? Would your blood still boil if your sister was left high and dry? Or would you blame her— she should have built a home ? Do you think real women are pornstars? The audacity of men like you , Trying to explain a woman’s body to herself. Is your mother still teaching you this? That girl seduced you, enchanted you—for your money? Like seriously? If that were true, Even Fiona wouldn’t have been with the Ogre. You want feminine women, yet ask, do you like to touch yourself? Your mother warned you of gold diggers, But forgot to teach you respect for someone’s daughter? Spare your lectures when it comes to me, I was standing up for other girls— Aga...

  Keep your sins to yourself— Not your "Father" or "Mother" to cleanse, Not for me to swallow in silence, Your guilt is not my recompense. Don’t drag me through your self-made hell, Then act like you turned out so swell. Watch your filth, then touch with ease, And still pretend you’re pure as peace? Should I carve it on my skin? "Do. Not. Touch. Me."—would that sink in? Or will you still play dumb and blind, Like respect is too hard to find? If you wrong me, I’ll return the song, Sing it loud where it hurts the most. Tell your mother, warn your child— Let them know of your hollow ghost. So go, pray at temples, beg for grace, But I am a storm—you'll know your place.

  They say girls only want attention, When it’s the boys who thrive on the male gaze, craving validation. Flaunting their women like trophies in hand, Yet taunting them for taking a stand. They hide behind their veil of "good," While asking women to cover up from their filthy gaze. Try to act like men when you are in doubt, Yet shrink away when caught in a crowd. They speak loud but call us shrill, They break hearts yet say we kill. They say girls are "crazy," ruled by Jinn, I just hope their daughters don’t pay for their fathers’ sins. They mock our rage, yet steal our fight, Afraid of the fire we hold inside. But we are the storm they cannot tame, And we burn down their game. Boys like that asking, "Would you wear that in front of my mom?" Well, no, but does she know you drool over almost every naked woman? Acting as if God made them from a rare mould, When they are the ones who easily fold.

  You teach us the divinity of temple grounds, The sacredness past the mortal bounds. You explain how "Pran Pratishta" is done in those stone moulds, And how it feels closer to the divine home. Yet you often forget this body is my temple too, My soul lives between these skin and bones too. You go to war if they disintegrate or ruin it, And energy released is painful. Then why do you say I am dramatic? Who will fight my war? I never said I am God, But am I not a creation of that divine thought? Then why can't I weep for how they touched me with their lust? Why am I called names for my rightful outbursts? You teach me in detail about the sacred grounds, But forget that I am as much a part of it. You love adorning them with flowers and jewels, When I put on makeup and adorn myself with silver and gold, Why must it be seen as vanity, not a reflection of my soul? You bow down in temples and ask for abundance, But hurt my very soul. The others might have looted this land and ma...

  Boys like you do not like it When the script is flipped on you. A woman who leaves is always A “whore” or a “bitch”—but never the truth. You asked about me? What did they tell you? That I was “always” a “self-serving narcissist”? Is that really the truth, or just a distorted view? I did ask about you, though, People called you “bin painde ka lota,” And if you stood alone in an election, Even then, they’d press NOTA. So, you honestly feel that you hurt my ego? You could’ve rejected me like a man, But no, you did it like a coward, With a sly smile and the words, “Oh, you can’t handle rejection?” How sad is that? You affected my health—HEALTH— And still cried about “dust allergy,” But your ego needed more—how pathetically true. Ohh, I did understand that intimacy is important between a woman and man, And I told you I was molested, but you did not ask me if I was alright or would I be ok? No, you simply said you have needs and blow job is a deal breaker, But guys like you call women ...

  When you have his baby, Always remember how he paraded your "sexy" body, Like you were his goddamn property. But I stood up for you, Even without knowing your story. Because that man has no spine, He’d brag about how he made me whine, How he dimmed my shine, Puffed up with pride, Claiming he’s the only one touched by the divine. He’d mock my belief in something deeper, Sneer at my refusal to measure worth in the shallow, Calling me irrational, Just because I wouldn’t rate people along the hollow. But I see you, Caught in his games, A pawn for his claims, And I hope one day you’ll know— That I spoke for you, Because I saw what he’d do. Not for pity, not for revenge, But because I’ve learned to stand tall in this storm. And while he’ll claim divine favour, The truth is simple— He never even deserved a glimpse of your form. So when you cradle that baby, Knowing this truth I softly hum: You were meant for love, But maybe, Not with this one.

  They say they are practical, And I have no grasp over the world. Yes, indeed—because their practicality It is how easily they can buy a woman. "How does it matter what she earns? I’d rather prefer a teacher who comes home." But he would have roamed around Seeking the so-called comfort he could find. Yes, so practical you are— Laughing at women and their issues, Then wanting someone who obeys you. Funny, this "practical guy" Talks about equality While proudly proclaiming, "I’d rather be with a dumb girl." Someone who simply listens, Never raises a question. A practical guy Who makes practical investments By sleeping with women of profession, But suddenly becomes a scared little boy When faced with the truth. So he silences your voice— Not with reason, but a lightsaber stick. Yes, indeed, so practical.

This poem is a deeply personal and emotional reflection on the labels and judgments women endure, often imposed by a society steeped in misogyny. From a young age, I’ve been vocal against the derogatory terms and stereotypes used to demean women, particularly those who have been victims of abuse. I remember standing up for a woman who had been sexually abused in her youth, only to be dismissed as “PAGAL” when her suffering led to a mental imbalance. Even as a child who had faced molestation like countless women, I understood how one traumatic incident could leave a lasting scar on a person’s psyche. This awareness made me fiercely protective of children, regardless of their gender. It also sharpened my insight into the hypocrisy of some men—those who insult and demean the daughters of others while demanding respect for their own families. These actions reflect deep-rooted misogyny, where men fail to see how their behaviour violates the nurturing instincts of women and perceive any reta...

What is your level, let me ask you? The man who claims he works so hard, That no one can reach the level you are at. You look down upon those who help, In ways you cannot even grasp, And then try to throw money, It's as if it justifies every dig you've made in jest. I never asked your caste, But you felt inferior about that, didn’t you? What makes you think your status Gives you the right to bring others down, When you seek empathy for your choices, And the ways you fall? You boast about reading from different sources, But did you actually even read the history of your own land? Or do you justify the actions of those, Who took in slaves just because they could? You wear royal colours stamped on your foreign pass, But don’t you forget, A lot of those you think are beneath you, Died to protect the people of the motherland. How dare you say that sexual assault is something only faced by Indian women, And Indian women are psycho in terms of that? When you, who lacked basic sex educ...

  Actions speak louder than words, But my words will bring your actions out in the open. Kept calling me crazy, Maybe your memory is hazy. No, I won’t back down. Go ahead and frown. Try parading her, Because you only enjoy crumpling every fleur. Then act like a good guy, Laugh out loud thinking you hurt a woman’s ego—a big sigh. Everything that suits you goes by your choice, Yet you treat girls like one of your toys. Boys like you who think they’re doing a favour, When they talk to a woman with respect. Believing that since Maa Lakshmi graces your pockets, You can go around poking your rockets. But your souls are blind and have marbles in those sockets. Did I show my true colours? Go ahead then, build up your case. Sure, I am the one who is such a disgrace. Actions speak louder than words, But my words will bring your actions out in the open. Equating a woman’s worth with words like “tight,” And you think I am always ready to fight and have lost my sight. But you’re a big meat of c...

  Now you are a better man, Because you found spirituality in a foreign land. But aren’t you the one who shamed me once, Claiming I was “old enough” and should have watched porn? Why? Because being a woman who made food with love wasn’t enough? Do you think I needed to be “cool” to have a man? That after every objectifying glance, I had to shape myself—quirky tees, muted dreams, Just to be a shadow of what you demand? You labelled me a gold digger—way to go, divine coder. Was I afraid to ask or learn because I wasn’t a nine-pointer? Shy, not assertive—was that my crime? When I wasn’t sure if I could speak my mind? You enjoyed more freedom and independence than me, But can you even relate to that disparity? I dreamed of strength, of standing tall, Long before I understood these walls. Now you felt violated when someone touched you without consent, But I’ve carried that burden since I was a child— Do you really think I’m fragile? Weak? Do you know what goes on in the back of a woman’...

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...

This poem reflects my journey of breaking free from suppressed emotions and societal expectations. It’s a glimpse into the struggles I’ve faced—fighting to be heard, understood, and respected while navigating a world that often judged me, or perhaps a world I judged myself too harshly in. Through this piece, I reclaim my voice and my truth, shedding the weight of past hurts and embracing a lighter, freer self. I never knew the rules of the game, You believed I was playing. What was the point of praying, When you kept laughing at everything I was saying? You thought it was simply abhorrent prattle, When in reality, I was fighting a different battle. It was easy for you to name all your emotions, While I suppressed mine to avoid causing any more commotion. While you were perhaps reaping the benefits of your preparation, I was furious about the trending "grab 'em by the pussy" declaration. Did you not joke, saying you hit below the belt? Oh, I’ve been grabbed when I was just...

It’s staggering how some people can dismiss another’s pain with such ease. How do we keep going when our truths are met with mockery and indifference? How does it feel to mock my cries? To twist my pain into casual lies? While I bled my truth with a trembling pen, You called it envy— not again, not again. It wasn’t their faces that haunted my mind, But the stories they shared that you’d readily find. Theirs were believed, held soft and dear, While mine dissolved into silence and sneer. And when, at last, I summoned my voice, Bravely broke through the noise—my only choice, You laughed, you pitied, offered no embrace, Just an empty shrug in a hollow space. So I buried it deep, let the midnight bell toll, Screams turned inward, a rent in my soul. A living hell, where shadows prey, While I wore strength-like armour each day. But strength gave way to the endless night, Pressure and silence dimmed my light. When I showed you the depths of my aching core, You laughed, then whispered, "Le...

Have you ever felt forced to shrink yourself, to fit into others' perceptions of who you should be? What happens when your truth is twisted and your silence is mistaken for peace? I shrank myself into shadows, tucked small, and Fed myself tales like, You’re lucky, after all. Not “too beautiful,” not “too tall or fair”— As if these were shields to what I had to bear. I wore my “short, dusky” like some magic shield, Fooling myself with a fake battlefield. Friends and well-wishers, oh, they played their parts, Saw my silence, my cracks—but stitched their hearts. Now I’m uncapping the jars of what’s bottled inside, But they call me crazy  and say I shouldn’t mind. They brand my memories a lie, my pain a disease— How bold to twist the truth when I finally find ease. Retard, they said, if a tear broke the calm— How dare I disrupt their peace with my qualms? Now I speak for the girl they told me to smother; I’m growing back to my full, unshrinking colour. But what if you decide to uncap...

For too long, you've been the one carrying the weight of others' problems, pretending to fix things you didn’t break. But now, the time has come to let go and reclaim your freedom. I’m throwing off these chains, tossing duty to the wind, No more “fix it all” games, I’m done playing pretend. You scoffed at my pain, called me crazy for speaking, But I’m done carrying your weight, my patience is leaking. I played protector, shielded from storms I didn’t create, Made sacrifices for grown folks—what a mistake. You’d roll your eyes, tell me to walk away and disappear, Like I wasn’t the one catching your every tear. Well, newsflash, I’m dropping these bags at the door, No more martyr for hire, I’m hitting the floor. Called me mental for venting, said I was out of my mind, But guess what? I’m not caring, I’m leaving that behind. I used to hold tight, keep your secrets, your woes, Always the first to show up, the one who just knows. But now, I’m unstrapping these burdens from my back, A...

  My voice—it's rising, raw and true, Gone are the “motherly” tones they knew. I’m done with soft, with being their balm, They’ll call me a “bitch” for not staying calm. Understanding? That role's been tossed, It got me nowhere, just made me lost. I was the warmth, the light, the care, And they took all I gave, left me bare. Once I told them, “You’re magic, pure,” And they lapped it up, so self-assured. But if I point to cracks in their shine, Suddenly, I'm out of line. They say, “I don’t want to hurt you,” oh please— People like that just take it with ease. I won’t shrink back, won’t dim my light, I’m claiming my space, my own birthright. No more sweet talk, no gentle frame, For those who play their selfish game. People like you? You’ve had your time— From here on out, I guard what’s mine.

  Do you think a strong woman stands only for herself? While society tears down others, comparing them endlessly? You talk about love and respect for the women in your life, But shame the rest, disregarding their struggles and strife. You praise the woman who fits into your narrow idea of right, But insult those who don’t conform to your limited sight. Is being emotional a weakness, or does it make us flawed? Does a man become fragile if he shows his heart is raw? You feel proud when you kick someone who’s already down, Calling us names while wearing a self-righteous crown. Isn’t it ironic, the way you preach virtues you rarely display? Expecting respect when you belittle others day after day. You try to measure our worth by our roles and our size, Dismissing our struggles as if they’re all lies. You throw your wealth around as if it can buy us, But love, respect, and time don’t come from what’s material or plus. You judge us for our emotions, call us unhinged or mad, But who’s tru...