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.

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!

Once again, I hit refresh,

A million times a minute.

Once again, I check the dial tone,

A million times a minute.

Once again, I hope against hope,

A million times, I cry.

Once again, I pray,

A million times, to make it right.

Once again, my heart breaks,

A million little pieces scattered.

What is it called,

When the left side of the body,

Feels heavier and hurting,

Like someone smashed it with hammer?

What is it called,

When catatonia takes over,

A perfectly healthy body,

Like all the blood is drained out?

What is it called,

When the eyes go dry,

But there’s loud sobs,

Like a whale separated from it’s calf?

What is it called,

When you are in a crowd,

But are left alone crying,

Like a war torn border?

What is it called,

When the shoulders are slumped,

Walking in the rain

Like a wet pup looking for a home?

Hustle

Mad dogging,

Tea bagging,

Sleepy child

In the waiting.

Pills like Nurse Jackie,

Chicken and rosemary,

Munching, crunching,

Silver tooth glittering.

Shot glasses, lime wedges,

Shite music blaring.

Anxious and loving,

Caring and soothing,

Tossed out without thinking.

Anger and frustration,

Midnight masturbation,

Raging bitch manifestation.

Sleep now, little one.

Mama’s gotta be strong,

For you and them bones.

Breathe in, breathe out,

If it wasn’t for that drought,

There’d be water in the well,

And we’d kill the mademoiselle.

Rage Against the Mechanic

Oh rage, take a deep breath.

Say ooooh, say aaaah,

Now exhale.

Close your eyes,

Do you see that lies?

Free your mind,

Do you have the spine?

Fold your legs,

Do you see the mess?

Purse your lips,

Do you hear the wisp?

Free your soul.

Do you see an asshole?

Raise your arms,

Do you smell the sweaty palms?

Do some harm,

Did you raise an alarm?

Open your ears,

Did the boogeyman sneer?

Make some noise,

Do you hear your voice?

Get yourself a hug,

From that menacing bug;

Have you gone away yet?

Oh rage, give me room on this stage.

Chemicals

Takes one chemical,

To run from here to there,

To fuck up a lifetime,

Of nestled love.

Takes one swig,

To wear pink glasses,

And look at a witch,

Like she’s a goddess.

Takes one minute,

To pack the bags,

Slam the door

And say fuck off.

Takes a breath,

To cool the head,

And open the eyes,

To see the water’s gone.

Takes one child,

To make things right,

And the children;

They don’t deserve bad mama.

Takes one word,

To pierce the heart,

And let the blood spill

All over the floor.

Takes one beat,

To sway like grass,

In a meadow,

Browned by fire.

Takes one smile,

To forget your shit,

And that very smile,

Can bring tears to the eye.

Takes one prayer,

To hate the world,

And to bury someone,

Six feet underground.

Takes one smoke ring,

To blow out another one;

Call your wife and say,

Fuck you, bitch.

Takes one whore,

To destroy three lives;

But I’m made of bricks

And you will go in the kiln

Bones and hair and all.

Bye!

I got one way tickets,

To a place I don’t want to go.

I have no home,

But here I am, not being slow.

I am asked to leave,

Because I fought,

For the love of my life,

And for being a bad wife.

I did nothing wrong,

Or so I think.

When I was shown my flaws,

I began to sink.

With a heavy heart,

I kissed my child,

Told him to go to school,

And not be a tool.

A decade of happiness,

Was deciphered as unhappiness.

I had no idea I was living a lie,

I thought everything was,

As sweet as a pie.

My two best men,

They let me go;

To face the world,

With a broken mould.

I want to go back,

And give them a hug.

But I know, before long,

I will be a rug.

My tears mean nothing,

My heart is still longing,

For that one person to say,

You belong here darling.

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

Boomerang

I was sixteen,

Father was fifty.

I was ill,

Mother was at work.

Father came home early

To check on me.

I asked for hot cocoa,

He made it for me.

Handed me the cup,

It slipped off of me.

I cried like a child,

Sobbing, “Sorry, Daddy”

He said it’s alright,

And wiped the spill.

Years went by,

Father was sixty eight.

I was a grown woman,

Father got sick,

He was in pain.

I brought him home,

To keep him company.

Drugged and confused,

He asked for a juice.

I held the drink to his mouth,

The straw slipped with a splash.

He said, “Sorry dear, I am weak”

I said, “It’s okay Daddy, sometimes,

We all get a little sick.”

Cats – Who do they think they are!?

IMG_20180319_083740598

You see what I mean? Everyday, every single day, I work like this. Most of the clicking on the mouse-pad is done by this guy. When my fingers are typing, he thinks it’s a game of “pin the finger”, and he keeps on jabbing at my fast-moving hands. I push him off and seat him to the big empty couch, but before I plop back down on mine, he’s there again!

I have had pets since before I was born. Rescues, adopted, you name it. I have seen birthing, like this guy’s, and it hasn’t horrified or grossed me out in the least. I have had pets pass on sadly, but that has never stopped me from bringing home another one. I have never bought one, they have all been rescued or adopted. And cats, they just show up. This guy is the third generation and I have the fourth generation –  a litter of three brownies fast asleep in their little nest in the spare bedroom. When their mom is not around, they cuddle up with my son, who has declared himself as their foster-mom. My husband loves babies, and he is a big man. He misses having a tiny baby boy who’d giggle in his lap, so now he treats those three kittens like human babies, rocking them, swaddling them, and washing their bum-bums. He lays down on the floor with them, making arm-mazes for them to jump through, which is hilarious to watch. The kittens really have taken a shining to my son as their foster-mom; they keep climbing on his head and look for something to suckle on. (LMAO!)

And as far as I am concerned, all the cats and dogs think of me as their buddy who likes to play in the mud and chase cars and mice. They shamelessly wake me up in the middle of the night if one of them has the munchies, they fart in my direction to let me know that they need to go out, they keep licking me, even the cats, like I have nothing better to do than rub their bellies and they knock on the door, any godforsaken time of the day. They are like those beepers at the exit of a super-market; any bag of grocery, any boxes from Amazon and any packages in the post, has to go past them. They smell out their foods and demand a tasting right then and there. So to sum it up, they treat me like a door-mat.

Having said that, I agree with the gazillion pet-owners: pets are real good stress-busters. Ever wondered why that cat on YouTube is famous? Stress-buster! Why, just over the weekend, I was really down in the dumps, and I got this guy seen in the picture to brush his teeth. What fun that was! Their teeth are razor-sharp, not to mention the wolverine-like claws. And we jostled for a good half an hour but managed to brush his teeth. (Don’t freak out, I used a super-soft baby toothbrush and no toothpaste; we were just monkeying around!) At the end of it, he was super-annoyed with me and I had forgotten the blues. He did avenge this episode by farting in my face just now though.

I just wanted to drop by and say to all the pet-owners, you people are doing a tremendous job. If not for you, these loving furry friends would be fighting for survival. Keep loving, keep cherishing!