Paradox of a woman

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It is sad that it is universally acknowledged
That my whole being is set to be scrutinized
That woman equals sexualize

Society’s idea woman is a paradox
We are supposed to be clean and pure
By daintily making our hair fall over our breasts

Alluring but sweet and innocent
As we satisfy a man in bed
We might as well not exist

My body is not a man’s possession
I am not a prize to be won
To be displayed around your arm

I refuse to see it as gospel
That I am nothing but a man’s slut

Your knees get weak when I sigh
Your body squirms with every moan
It is exactly what you were begging for

When I am nothing but skin for pleasure
Nothing but your need of aesthetic
My purpose is no longer in the kitchen

My post is under your sheets
Between my legs is the validation for your manhood
Your breath reeks of desperation

Pinning your insecurity onto me
Calling me a whore, slander I say
Shouldering your defence with society’s opinions

To you I am only a fetish
A one night stand, someone’s wife
Dependent on owning a man’s last name

Dependent on being controlled
Because I was taught, woman equals a man
Not man and woman are equal

I am a woman and I deserve better
Than a man who only wants to fuck me
And I owe you nothing

I am human, flesh, bones and soul
My eyes, hands and legs are not an invitation
To your cavern of unjustified condemnation

I am a woman and you see me as nothing
Nothing but sweat and a mouth
To swallow your mistakes and narcissism

Your ideal woman is a paradox
You want her to exist
As we slowly fade into nothingness

God Forbid, I am Bi

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She laughed, it wasn’t sweet
Nor was she being funny
her next words stung
“You’re only confused”
“You’re a lesbian, trust me”
She said I should trust her instinct
But who is she
To define my sexuality?
God forbid I like
Both men and women
I cannot choose which I prefer
And no, there’s no schedule
No interchanging dates
pertaining to which gender I’d love
During a certain day, week or month
God forbid I can love both
Some people ask me just choose
They say my sexuality is confusing
Am I straight or am I gay?
Apparently, I can only choose one way
Even those who fought for love
disregard my sexuality
God forbid the love I’ve chosen
Why are they so perplexed
by my sexuality?
It’s not that hard to comprehend
It’s plain simple
I am speaking English
But still they can’t wrap
the idea around their heads
That I like both men and women
Instead of letting me be
they pin their confusion onto me
God forbid I like a man
they accuse me of walking back into the closet
God forbid I like a woman
then they say I am only experimenting
treating my sexuality as a guinea pig
Whom I love is an entry
for the science fair
Whom I love is to be dissected
My sexuality is a hypothesis
God forbid love wins
Because they ask me to compare
They ask me which I prefer
But in fact all they are asking
Whose skills in bed are better
As if I keep a scoresheet
Listing the names of every man
and woman I have ever been with
God forbid I am not straight
God forbid I am neither gay
Trying so hard to convince
Or push me out of a metaphorical closet
Telling me to come out
My sexuality is not an announcement
I do not need to explain my attraction
Because God forbid I like both right?

Loveless Definition

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You told me she loved you
You reassured me that she loved you
But I can see the bruises on your skin
And don’t you dare say you like it rough
There’s a difference between love and violence
I know that you were screaming the night before
Then by morning all you give is silence
Darling that is not love
Love is a painful metaphor not to be taken literally

Love isn’t words that crack your spine
Love isn’t black and blue
Love wouldn’t twist your shoulder
Love wouldn’t threaten you with a knife
At three in the morning
Love will never create bullshit excuses
To justify the marks they left on your arms
Love will never give you unfair consequences
Love will never hurt you the way she does

You’re confusing an embrace with her grip
She’s choking you and I don’t want to lose you
I don’t want the air to suddenly fade
from your lungs, and your last breath is her name
please find the strength to walk away
sneak out in the middle of the night
be anywhere else as long as it is not by her side

leave before you can’t even stand
leave before she chains you through twisted words
her eyes lackluster as she apologizes
her promises were meant to be broken
she said she’d love you until days end
but does it have to be yours?

An Idiot’s Commentary

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The idea of democracy
is dead
welcome to the age of idiocracy
our minds being penetrated
by ignorance
written by self-appointed
pretentious social media experts
typing statuses
that leave minds crippling
tweets saying rape isn’t heinous
isn’t considered a crime
how a woman should be thankful
that a man would fuck them
we are no longer in progress
we are walking backward
arguing ethics that are crystal clear
how are we still reading bullshit?
how are we still tolerating trolls
who live in the comments section
waiting for the next sentence
attacking the next user with a point
how can we
read such crap on our walls
vandalizing our scrolling
by then we’d have zero following
if we unfriended every stupid asshole
who says rape is sex
rape is not sex, sex is consent
no one should think rape is fine
rape is a crime
if only ignorance and stupidity is a crime
then we can put every troll in court
throw them behind bars
make this world a better place
rather than click “block”
so your timeline won’t be tarnished with their face

Self-Induced Bliss and Obsolete Men

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Sex sells and Chuck Palahniuk’s world in “Beautiful You” you can sell it inside a pink bag and men would soon be obsolete.The novel even opens with the lines “A billion husbands are about to be replaced.” Which would make you wonder why and how would a billion men be replaced?

Our protagonist 25-year-old Penny Harrigan wants to live with some sort of purpose in life than being a law firm’s coffee and chair girl. She didn’t want to be third-wave or post anything like the feminists before her. All she wanted was a choice beyond domestic life and a corporate or medical big shot. It wasn’t until a chance encounter with mega-billionaire and international playboy C. Linus Maxwell helped her discover what she wanted in life. Power and satisfaction.

Though fair warning, you will not find an erotic love story. If you want a sexy romance novel then don’t pick up this book. Because you will find yourself reading a satire of modern culture and feminism. It’s a story where Cinderella meets a sadistic Prince Charming who has plans for world domination.

After Maxwell invites Penny to dinner, he soon takes her to Paris however it wasn’t for a lovely and luxurious vacation. This is where the plot gets interesting and runs away from a 50 Shades of Grey cliche. Penny was actually chosen by Maxwell to be a test subject for his line of female sex toys. Yes you’ve read that right, Maxwell was creating a line of sex toys that would bring billions of woman to undreamed-of heights of sexual gratification for days end. Despite the good intentions of his products, Penny soon realized that her world would no longer be the same. She finds out that chaos can come out of being blissfully satisfied.

Maxwell’s series of sex products designed for women are so effective that one satisfied character exclaims, “Men are obsolete!…Anything a man can do to me, I can do better!” Women soon disappear from the public sphere to pleasure themselves in private, leaving a world of furious, obsolete penises.

Palahnuik paints a picture of man’s obsession with anything that gives pleasure for a few seconds and take advantage of it until we are sick of it. His point is that we are all slaves to modern culture and the pursuit of happiness that any commercial tells us we could buy. In a way our desires can wreck our lives if there’s nothing else that can satisfy us. Like an alcoholic or a drug addict, there are other vices out there that can pull us away from our sanity for the sake of pleasure. In a way Maxwell’s plan of world domination through self-induced bliss isn’t as ridiculous as it is eye opening.

Palahniuk’s Beautiful You will give you a glimpse of what an erotically enabled world would look like. He will take you to a wild, angry and jaw dropping imagination your head cannot fathom on its own.

Pieces of Peace: “New Love, past pieces”

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Now explain to me this: how can you possibly love me?

How you can love someone so damaged baffles me because I can’t see what you see. But I would like to welcome you here, where every single one of my relationships came to die.

Oh they’re all still alive; they just decided they were better off living without me though there were moments where I was the one who cut the ties and declined the pending relationship status. However I rather not explain moments or misinterpreted words and going into full detail about what led to our demise.

Instead let me introduce to you the pieces I mention in most of my work, actual pieces, things they gave before deciding to call it quits. Before one of us grew tired of the other and before one of us chose someone else.

Fair warning, my past loves are not exactly picturesque.

Here’s the first piece a worn out shirt, it’s still in my closet buried beneath most of my other clothes. Its red, his favourite colour and it was mine too for a brief time. Because I was fourteen and forcing myself to believe we were soul mates. So stupid to fall for the first boy to give me the attention I thought I deserved. I watched too many romantic comedies if you asked me, because when a boy smiled and said the kindest of words I was hooked.

Three days later he called me crazy and we broke up after fighting about something so insignificant only two teenagers would find it as a reason to break up.

And now the next piece is a cliché, the usual gift for your first month together. It’s a teddy bear; I cuddled it as much as we did. It’s still on my desk because it fits the aesthetics. When I’m drunk and thinking of him I stare at the bear wondering every single what if. He was “the one that got away” in other words I was a clueless bitch who didn’t understand how a relationship worked. I loved his company yet I didn’t show it.

He gave me flowers, I scoffed at the bouquet and said hated roses then he gave me chocolates I ate them of course. He never asked for anything so I never gave.

I wonder if he thought of me as often as I thought of him. Looking back at how we left things, I was apologizing and I forgot what for. But I do remember him leaving me in the cafe because he didn’t want to fight anymore.

The third one is on my bookshelf, it’s been sitting there for a while collecting dust. It’s a book, a pretty good one too. I didn’t know him well but I did wish he came with a premise so I knew what to expect. Instead I was impressed with his words and blindsided by his plot twist, a week before Christmas he decided I was only worth two weeks.

I never actually finished the book but I always tell people it’s my favourite. When in fact it’s not, I think the only lines I’ve re-read over and over were the ones he wrote on the front page hoping that I’d love his gift.

I did for a moment because I was so in love with him that I associated my feelings with the book and the only reason why it’s still on my shelf is because even if he didn’t stay doesn’t mean the book has to pay the price for his stupid mistake.

I can stop if you want; because I already mentioned three out of five and yes I’ve shortened the list for your benefit. You do not need to know the others because most of them are in the trash. You might want to walk away now before I get to the last two. Honestly I wouldn’t even blame you.

So here’s our fourth piece, like it? It’s another cliché it’s his jacket. It’s too big for me; I don’t know why I still have it. I even washed it because I didn’t like the smell of beer and cigarettes

I thank God it doesn’t smell like him anymore because I see that jacket and I remember that night.  He said he was drunk, but even if you drown enough bottles and had enough shots you would know what your girlfriend looked like in a hazy state. It’s easy to be unfaithful in a relationship that bored you, though it still hurt when I saw him tonguing with another bitch.  He was a firm believer in “actions speak louder than words” so instead of saying he no longer wanted to be with me, he showed it.

I forgot to give his stupid jacket back because if I saw his face I might end up punching him again. But we’re all good; he said I could keep it now it’s just for display.  A daily reminder that anyone can screw you over.

And here it is the fifth and final piece, a broken CD. It’s from this boy and I’m pretty sure you’ve heard about him. There isn’t anyone who doesn’t know about the feelings I had for him, my manic pixie dream boy.

They said that he and I were soul mates, meant to be and fate finally brought us to meet and I broke the mix CD he gave me hoping it would shatter that image of us.

It took around… three years until I decided we were better of co-existing because I was tired of being a hopeless romantic thinking he would finally feel the same way. I placed him on a pedestal and after three years I finally kicked him off it.

Rather than trying to stitch moments to be something we could’ve been. We are now dancing the waltz of constant avoidance and forced distance.

Do you still love me? Because I don’t want you to be part of this museum of faults, I do not want you to be with this person carrying this much baggage. I’m willing to give you an exit strategy, there’s a map in my pocket that will lead you to the nearest exit.

 

Pieces of Peace: i am not your manic pixie dream girl

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I could just be some hipster wanna be but instead you called me a manic pixie dream girl” some two dimensional literary trope.

It was sweet at first how you liked me the moment you saw me though that should’ve been a red flag. You said the moment you saw me and not the moment you met me. Instead of asking me out for coffee, you decided to stare at me from afar. You said you were shy around attractive girls, thanks for the flattery but a “hello” would be more appreciated.

Congratulations you finally asked me out but I could tell that you were disappointed. You were a writer, a poet you specifically said, and you hoped I would fill the lines of your leather bounded journals. You mistook my energy as bubbly, my smile as charismatic and my reserved answers as mysterious.

My appearance might’ve deceived you and I am not even sporting bangs! Yes I like vintage and dress like I’m walking out of a 2006 pop punk music video but I am not a two dimensional trope.

Sure I said I have a place in my heart for quirky films and indie flicks. Yes I said that I prefer indie pop over mainstream pop. My favourite band has some obscure name and my favourite movie was directed by Wes Anderson. But like I said, maybe I’m an annoying hipster chick and not someone who is setting up your romantic storyline.

I am not a storyline.  I am not going to be with you for 500 torturous days where you’ll only love me for a split second until you see my flaws. Until you realize that I am as mundane as you are. I did not like everything you did, i did not brush off every mistake you’ve made with “I understand” and I broke your image when I was talking like a normal person. I forgot to speak in metaphors and confusing pop culture analogies. You hated that I was real.

When you realized not everything was an adventure, not everything that came out of my mouth was a snarky comment and I was boring to say the least. You got tired of me when I preferred to stay in, when I didn’t want to resolve our fight with sex, when I recalled my day at work or at school and you definitely hated me the moment you realized I am not as perfect as you wrote me out to be.

Please fall in love with a person, it’s such a treacherous thing to fall for a character you created.