Grown-up

I asked my daughter,

What dya want to be,

When you are a big girl?

Her answer made me

Want to dig my own grave,

On a stolen plot somewhere,

And jump in, without a tank

Of Oxygen or Oxycodone.

What an oxymoron!

I didn’t even want the grave marked,

For she said she wants to be a “socialite”.

Asswipe

“I am God”, said an asswipe.

Blew his horns, sounded from a pipe.

All you bloody did was see a shrink,

Who helped you get outside of hell’s brink.

Like a Jungle-man beating his chest,

You proclaim that you are the best.

You can walk on water,

Do things like in the gutter.

Make wine out of pee-pee,

Glamorous gold shit-shit.

Fucking whores on a schoolnight,

I’mma choke your windpipe.

Don’t mess with me, dickhead,

Might light fire to your fucking bed.

Warped

Brain noodles,

Polynesian poodles,

Yahoo doodles.

Unibrow model,

Half throttle,

Fizzless bottle.

American Rubel,

Aristocratic strudel,

Lawyer mogul.

Scatting yodel,

Zero subtotal,

Rhyme, McDougal.

Bloody fences,

From your menses,

Diva cup frenzy.

Glitterati, Illuminati,

Take it nonchalantly,

What’s with the shite-shitey?!

Extra shirt buttons,

Who is that glutton?

Got’em by the dozens,

Bitch, pick your cotton.

Bleeding brain noodles,

Writing Warhol doodles,

Mush in your puddle.

Return, hillbilly,

With ass in chilli,

Boo! Scaredya totally.

Babble

Oh you don’t my cackling laughter?

Why, I will just giggle like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like my one liners?

Why, I will just say oops like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like my stinky bombers?

Why, I will just eat kale like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like my slam poetry?

Why, I will just draw hearts like Barbie.

Oh you don’t like where I’m going with this?

Why, I will just take my top off like Barbie.

Poison Pen Letter

There’d be a myriad of wise men and women on this platform, and I’d really appreciate some communication.

I am filled with rage, anger and suicidal thoughts over something as trivial as being cheated on.

I do not want to cry anymore, I do not want to be sad anymore. I do not want to think about it anymore. I want to erase the whole thing from my head. I have gone to the lengths of exploring (laughable) things like black magic, voodoo, witchcraft, electroshock therapy, lobotomy, hypnotherapy, what have you. I even stepped into a church, a mosque, a temple, a synagogue. Divine intervention didn’t work either. Medication, meditation, yoga, death metal, nothing worked. I drown myself in a sea of pills and alcohol. It hurts like a bitch. I can’t tell day from night, today from tomorrow. I have panic attacks in malls. I break down in public places. I have gone to psychiatrists and therapists and other horde of doctors. The only thing that keeps me calm is a hug from my husband and son. I’ve cried a river. I just have one simple wish now. I don’t want to be sad anymore.

So if there’s anyone out there who can help, please help a sister out. I am on the last rung of the ladder.

Money

Yes, it’s true what they say. Money cannot buy you happiness. But it sure can buy you 5 star vacations and that’s about as happy as a grown-up can get. Sure, there’s the unhinged, unwavering, unwarranted happiness that is in a child. But that child grows up, in a society fret with problems. Problems created by grown-ups who build schools and colleges to help solve those problems. Talk about going in circles.

I have been on the planet over three decades and I can narrow down to two moments of sheer joy: one, when I married my now adulterous husband, and two, when I saw the man holding my baby in his arms. If that isn’t true love, I fail to see what is. And that same man denied me a hug a minute ago because “he needed some time apart”. I don’t even have any Valiums on me to counter that shrug. All I can do is whine to the world, where I know I am not even going to be heard. This man, he cheated, lied, and beat me up and blamed me for everything. I have started thinking that maybe I am the monster who torments someone so much they want to beat the shit out of them.

I have sobbed, slept on hotel floors, waited for a taxi at 2 in the morning because I was thrown out of the house, made to leave my child behind, been called a whore who can’t even sell her body for sex, and beaten up black and blue; why? Because I asked this person why he needed another woman in his life.

Five tequila shots down, I finally have the courage to share my story. I know there would be several women out there going through this and worse shit possible. If you are one of them, leave a message and the least we can do is give a metaphorical shoulder to cry upon. YES, face it, world! Women cry. They’re not being melodramatic, they’re just being real.

And if you are one of those wife-beaters, please, for the love of whatever you love, stop doing that, no matter how much she provokes you. You were born out of a woman. And just because someone annoys you or you are filled with rage, does not give you the right to hit a woman. Women are not the weaker sex. Women are the smarter sex. That’s why “housewives” is more common than “househusbands”. That’s right, we put our pedicured feet up and send the man to make money to buy us shoes.

In spite of everything, a woman would do anything in her power and beyond to protect her family. She is not just a mama bear to her sons and daughters. She’s mothering you as well, the “breadwinner”. She’s the glue that keeps it together; without her, everything would fall all over. RESPECT, mofos, RESPECT!

Wise Bud

Continuing with the photography, this was pre-meditated. Four Budweisers down, I wa able to carefully peel off the stickers off the bottle and label them on the tabby.

He has been my billboard for most anything.

🍻 Do not drink and drive. Put the bottle aside, pull over, take a swig, and then drive.

Nooo… seriously, it is not a question of capability, it is a question of safety. Drink at home or Uber. 😬

Turban troubles: A not so metaphorical true story.

PG18

*All the characters are real, the names haven’t been changed*

Once upon a time, a young whore was born out of, probably a wedlock. The young whore was braindead at birth. Her eyes looked North and she saw South. Her teeth grew like a heavily fertilised cornfield, too many to line up in the jaw. She went to school and did not pay attention to the teachers, but instead kept admiring her fingernails.

As the young whore grew, her grassy hair grew and she learnt a thing or two about tying them into a whorilicious way. She learned about co-ordinating skirts with blouses and hot pants with tank tops. She attended a “fashion school” to learn this. As she reached her 20s, her hemline went higher and higher and the neckline went deeper and deeper. Despite this, the little whore was not able to walk, talk and act like a whore because she was trapped in a family who lived by the book.

One day, as the whore was juggling jobs as a showgirl juggling her boobs, a young, lost soul caught her eyes. She spread her legs wide open and immediately the lost soul decided to marry her to be the sole owner of those legs and that body. The lost soul started out humble but worked hard and reached places in life which the whore had never heard of.

Being free from the shackles of her family, she started her Babylonian epic whore journey, spreading her unfertilised eggs, from one man to another. In the meantime, the lost soul was clueless about his little whore’s business and loved her dearly and showered her with the latest gadgets. iPhone, myphone, a lot of phones were given to her to communicate with her.

But alas! the lost soul failed to see that the little whore was guzzling wine and beer like a parched whale and making other lost souls fall from heaven like Lucifer. The elixir of alcohol went to her braindead head and she looked in the mirror and saw a demigoddess. She levitated with a delusional delight and her feet never touched the ground. Of course, her knees did a lot of groundwork, performing fellatio on any male genitals that came her way. At one point there was also an equally braindead whore who decided to facilitate each other’s deviant desires while the lost soul looked on.

A decade passed by and the whore decided that she needed to mess around with more genitals. She moved to another country seeking cheaper wine and cigarettes and gullible middle-aged men. Her eyes had gone puffy, her voice had grown hoarser, and she was still grotesquely attractive to men. Another dumbass lost soul came her way and they fornicated each other’s brains out, not that there was much to lose to begin with. The dumbass had a star by his side who guided him back to his heaven. The whore kept on luring him back in, and the guardian angels stopped him many a times.

The star that stood by the lost soul’s side while he vomited the germs passed on by the whore, was mangled up, smashed and left at the curb side, begging for help from a child. At last the lost soul opened his eyes and saw the light. He gave his star his American Express Platinum card and the star transformed into Superwoman overnight. Superwoman shouted a lot, because she was dealing with dumbasses and the dumbasses paid no heed to the words and registered the noise as abuse. (*eye roll)

After much deliberation and debates between his brain and phallus, the lost soul decided that the star was indeed right and decided to follow her path. There were slip-ups, mind you, but the star stood her ground. One day, the whore lured the lost soul into a seedy watering hole and filled him to the brim with alcohol. Then, the little whore produced a pack of cigarettes that were hidden in her ass crack and they both smoked like an industrial chimney. They rolled home in their carriage, drunk as skunk and slapped the star across her face.

Now the star got very very angry and decided to bulldoze the whore once and for all. Collected but uncalm within, the star hatched a plan to demolish the harlot. After multiple attempts, she succeeded; first crushing her sunglasses, next crushing her head which was quite easy as there was nothing within and finally, crushing the whore entirely with a speeding truck. The star smiled with a deep sigh of relief and told the lost souls, both of them, “And that’s how you kill a whore.”

The End

Whoops! I just farted.

Lucky nobody’s around.

Smells terrible too,

Like a corpse in the ground.

There’s no meaning,

To anything in the world.

It’s all there and not there,

At the same time.

I am trying to rhyme so hard,

It hurts, because words were made,

To communicate, not heard.

Payback’s a bitch, you’re right Stephen K,

But there’s also good karma,

And all that bullshit people sell you.

The world isn’t dead, just not “woke”,

For every struggle two hands go through,

There’s six more to help you.

Is this good enough to rap, I wonder,

Heck, who cares, as long as the beats are thunder.

I have so much to say, I forget what it is;

I pay a shrink to remind me this.

Catharsis is getting it out of your system,

But what if your system is full of holes?

Shouldn’t all the pain escape through the pores?

I make no sense, but I see the light.

Not at the end of the tunnel,

But right here by my side.

Grace

Grace: Must be someone’s name. But when I hear “Grace”, I’m reminded of Elaine Benes.. Remember that? 😂

I am currently in the phase of coming to terms with being single. Younger lady I once was, no longer I am. The novelty wore off; kicked to the curb. And I thought, SHIT!

So, here’s a reminder to all the gentlemen out there who abandon their partners for a younger, lighter, prettier one. She also poops. And her shit smells like shit too.

Pooping with grace, but poops nonetheless.

Living without BOYS

In a decade, I haven’t been alone. And I mean ALL ALONE. Four cups of coffee down and I feel like a new me.

I just realised the toilet seat can stay down 24 hours now. There’s no aimless yellow sprinkling all over the toilet.

I just realised I can wake up anytime, sleep anytime and eat anytime. I am not a mother, I am not a wife. I am ME. I can stand on my feet without anyone’s help. I am still hurting. A LOT. An unpardonable sin was committed and I will perhaps never forgive the sinner. But I came out stronger.

A 79 year old man, a lonely homosexual woman, friends from far away in time and space helped me. There is still hope in the world. People are nice when you are nice to them. For the first time ever, I believe!

Thank You all for your support and kind words. Strangers, but not so strange. And women out there, it REALLY us that have the power. Patriarchal society, my ass. We make them from scratch inside our bodies with just a drop from anyone. 😜 We are smart, that’s why we put our feet up and get pedicures while the “patriarchal head” brings home the bacon.

-Hugs!

Endgame

So I was one of the very few millions who got an opportunity to attend the premiere of AVENGERS: ENDGAME. No spoilers here, I promise.

Okay, I lied: Spoiler 1

Did anyone feel that over an hour was spent in dramatic entrances? I mean I whooped and clapped at every single one of them but there’s just so many. I had to put down the popcorn tub so many times to clap and do a little dance when Cumberbatch and Pratt and Cooper and the girl with antennas came up. (She so funny!)

Spoiler 2:

A smash on the head is all it took to kill Thanos? Why didn’t Thor think of that before? Perhaps all that beer gave him the idea. I mean, Iron Man and Hulk talking some real physics, chemistry, science, divine, intergalactic, robotic sh*t, and all it took was a blow on the head with Mjölnir! (By the by, I could’ve just written hammer, but Mjölnir just sounds so fancy, and getting that O with two dots is a task some may appreciate.)

Spoiler 3:

Iron Man dies?! I was waiting till the ushers came in to clear up the movie hall, hoping that something will happen and he would come back. And my my! The funeral; I think I cried more than I cried at my aunt’s. Will little Morgan walk in her daddy’s suit? I hope so. We could use an Iron Woman!

Spoiler 4:

Rene Russo says, “Eat a salad”. And I immediately signed up with that meal plan. I mean if salad is what it takes to get to look a little bit like Hemsworth, I’d eat leaves, sure!

And that’s about it. I enjoyed the movie. Pardon the technical/fictional errors. I am just one of those people talking in the parking lot after the movie.

Prince

A mangled, half eaten frog,

It’s mouth and eyes open,

Ready to leap and kill.

By the bark of the tree,

In the mangy grass,

Stood the shadow,

In the pouring rain,

Shielding it’s eyes,

From the brightly shining sun.

Cymbals and tambourines,

Knocked heavily above,

As the ant-troops marched.

Dotted with water,

Bathed with light,

Specks of blood,

Shards of bone,

Splat! on the dirt.