Posted in Prostitution

A hushed lie

A tear drop in my eye,
Turns dry before even,
Touching my skin,
As you grip my waist.
The cold metal of your big ring,
Gives me a tickle,
As your hand moves downward,
In search of more flesh.

Then pushing me away,
You look into my eyes first,
Then at my voluptuous curves,
Draped in a red saree.
With this you sit in the back of your chair.
A signal for me to unveil,
And so I do,
With the finesse of a stripper.
Something I knew not of,
A few years ago.

You gape with your greedy eyes,
An invisible drool,
A deaf roar.
I know what you want,
My experienced nails burying into your back,
My long hair falling on your face,
As you showcase your manhood,
The proof of which,
Is me moaning and sweating.

As a kid I was told I had beautiful lips,
Engaging eyes,
Now no one seemed to notice.
Flesh is chewed off my bones,
Every night.

And this is what I have become,
An untold story,
A hushed lie,
A taboo,
Yet, a reality

Posted in BeingBeautiful, feminism

The Story of He

He tells me how pretty I look tonight,
The short dress,
making my legs look longer.
He knows not of the pain of
Every hair pulled out,
the burn of the hot wax,
The anxiety as the strip is rubbed against my skin.
For him they’re just a pretty pair.

He told me how he wanted to kiss
my luscious lips.
Red lips which were nothing compared to
The redness caused above them,
When the hair was threaded out.
It buried into my skin,
As I press my tongue against it.
So as to retaliate?

The glint in my big black eyes,
would make him stare into them all day.
Well, not with my dense black brows,
the plucking of which,
made my eyes quiver in pain.

Shaving my hair,
Shaving it off my head.
The latter considered bizarre,
The former, well, surreptitious.

We’re told
Pretty hurts.
Handsome never does.
Child birth hurts,
Intercourse on him doesn’t.
Menstruation hurts, Boners don’t.
Then why should I choose pretty,
When I endure pain almost at every turn in life?
Be it a war between my legs or a new life inside me?

So the next time he tells me I’m pretty,
I’ll tell him to wait,
Till my dark black hair
Is back.

Posted in Domestic violence', Mothers

Letter to Ma

There was abnegation for him

The moment his hand was on your delicate, slender neck

His clutch growing tighter

Till he realizes the sanity of it

And lets go

You laying breathless on the floor


He is the beast to your beauty

The prick that puts you to sleep

You don’t need him

But you need him there

For me, and that saddens me


But you’ve had enough

I am here now

To shield you when he takes a step forward

There to shut him out when he does loud

There to make him respect you

As there is no compassion in him no more

But I won’t let you go numb

Screening him away


Making you smile

Laugh. Love. Live.

As you rightfully deserve.


Your Daughter.