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

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.

Love and Shmucks (Fiction)

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He called me hot and grabbed my ass.

I sort of hoped he was gay but then again even a guy wouldn’t fuck him. He could’ve been attractive if he wasn’t slouching or wearing clothes that don’t fit him right or if he decided to shave that day. Don’t get me wrong, some men look good with a little stubble but in his case he looked like some slob who finally woke up and decided to drown himself in cheap cologne rather than take an actual shower. Even the most desperate would not consider going to bed with this man.

I was about to give my snarkiest and cruelest of replies until I saw the bartender give him his mug and I was appalled by what I saw. There was ice.

Here’s one thing you should know about me, I love my alcohol and I treat every single kind of liquor with the respect it deserves. If the first reason why I wouldn’t sleep with this man was because of his appearance my second would be the fact he asked the bartender to put ice in his beer.

I could feel the bartender’s remorse when he had to put ice into a perfectly good beer. So where’s that asshole that said the customer was always right? Because he’s fucking wrong and should see this slob drink his beer, if you can call it that.

I didn’t need to say anything; this sleaze ball didn’t even deserve to hear a snarky comeback coming out of my pretty little mouth.

All I had to do was pick up my jacket and walk away. His insistent calling was muted by the new generation’s sad excuse for synth pop and people screaming through the loud music.

But as I was leaving the club I noticed that tonight’s guests were a mix of desperate lovers and horny bastards doing anything to get into someone’s pants.

There’s the housewife trying to cover up the tan line of her wedding ring that she’s hiding in her purse. There’s the lonely man walking up to a pretty girl, his charming smile and witty pick-up lines are compensating for his lousy bed skills. Then there’s the already beautiful girl trying so hard to find confidence in a man’s arms, and then her insecurities will come creeping back as soon as he leaves the next morning.

I feel sorry for most of these shmucks, looking for love in a lust filled palace that reeks of piss and semen. All I wanted was a proper martini but my night was ruined because of a man who didn’t know how to drink his alcohol.

I wasn’t one of these lost, pathetic souls trying to find imaginary soul mates. I already found mine and no I’m not talking about the vodka in my liquor cabinet. I actually meant a decent human being.

Okay decent is too kind of a word for him, what I meant to say was douchebag. Like most people their way to avoid a sad, empty and lonely life was to settle with the next person who shows enough interest to stay longer than a few months. I settled so here I am enjoying the bliss of a long term relationship.

I won’t say I’m miserable, that would be wrong of me to say but even worse if I said I was happy. I’m not bored or depressed enough to leave yet I see no other reason for me stay as well. Unless you count my fear of turning into a bitter and desperate old woman trying to find 2 minute dates in some club.

Then yes, I should stay.