Women Like Me 

Women like me,

Make men realize 

That their dreams don’t belong 

Only in their eyes 

That their shoulders are broad enough

For the weight of the world 

And the reduction of all their principle 

Lies in just their word 

That the sky is theirs 

And all this earth 

We make men keenly aware 

Of every inch of their self worth 

We are not statues, but pillars 

We are not decoration

We are not conquest, but glory 

We require dedication 

And we pay you back in blood 

In all of our love 

Women like me are made from your rib

But we hold your spine up. 
And if you can’t appreciate a woman

Who could wither your universe to bits 

If you insist on looking at greatness 

And lingering on the span of its tits 

Then I have already moved past you 

It’s not worth my time, you won’t see 

That I want you on your knees, and 

I’ll nurture you on mine, simultaneously

if you really deserved

A woman like me 
©Yusra

05.06.2017 

Silent acquiescence? I think not, darling…. ❤️

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To The Writer Who Sexted Me 

 

 

 

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…cringe… 

 

 

This is why I treat you with
Condescension and amusement in
Equal measure
You infinitely stupid creature
I am complexities and galaxies
Universes thinly restrained
Destruction and your two-celled mind melting
If I so deigned
I’m the weakest and strongest person you’ll
Ever meet
You should fear me, revere me
And I know this

But you’d rather call me ‘baby’
And ask to see my tits

 

©CM
01.10.2016

 

To The Writer Who Sexted Me

 

I’m not even angry, to be entirely honest. The entire situation was so funny in a cringey way. Having a personal idol crumble down in front of you eyes and proceed to bonk you on the head during his descent- yep.  I’m sitting here with the most irrepressible bemused grin you can imagine.

The story here is that a writer whose work I’ve liked on multiple occasions, added me on Facebook. Given that we had about 35 writing friends in common already, and that I was a fan, I added him without thinking twice about it. I quickly skimmed down his ‘About’ page. I’d read most of his recent posts, oh look, he’s married and got a kid, how cute, new book in the works- and about five minutes later, when I’d gone back to work, a notification pops up.

Hello, gorgeous‘.

Ohkay.. It’s not unusual for some people, especially the British lot, to start off with a ‘hallo, beautiful’ or such like. I could let that slide. I responded with a ‘Hello, thank you for inviting me to be friends. I look forward to reading more of your work.’ I don’t know if the scaly old maggot stopped to even blink at my reply. Next notification reads-

Do you have Skype?’

This was definitely odd.  ‘No, I don’t use Skype.’ I wrote, a bit terse now. ‘What for?’

Oh, how sad‘ popped up. Then a few minutes of nothing, aaaaand-

So what are you wearing?’

I kid you not, I wasn’t even pissed. I decided to fuck with him a bit for being such a reptile right off the bat. ‘Excuse me?’

What are you wearing? You know.. clothes?

I didn’t reply to that. Then,

Do you speak English? Are you Greek?’

Do I speak English?  This guy has commented on one of my poems. I gave him a polite enough greeting to start off with. I think it was established that I do speak English. About ten minutes later and-

We should get to know each other better. Do you have Messenger? Whatsapp?’

I think you’re a little confused about something. Good bye.’ I unfriended him the moment I sent the message, and that was that.

Apparently not. A few hours later, my phone pings.

Hello, gorgeous.’ So unfriending people doesn’t mean they can’t message you anymore. ‘Are you in bed, darling? What are you wearing?’ That did it. I was debating whether or not to tell him to check what his mother was wearing while she fucks his dog, when-

What colour is your bra?’

Ew.

Seriously. I mean, what is wrong with guy. He’s no spring chicken. He’s no drunk guy ambling over and asking me if it hurt when I fell, as if that’s the most ingenious pick up line every crafted (And incidentally, it should be a bro-code commandment never to use that, it stopped being funny twenty years ago). This is a guy with his wife somewhere around him. I’m closer to his son’s age than his. It doesn’t matter if you’re short or fat or bald, or tall and handsome and intimidatingly pierced. Surely by now he must have figured out that there is nothing so deeply unattractive that poufing around like a randy dodo on steroids. Or the verbal equivalent.

He kept messaging while I blocked him. And then he followed me on Twitter. It’s sad and hilarious at the same time. You’d think someone who writes fairly engaging political essays could have learned social cues by now.

Or learned to do anything but that.

To the writer who messaged me. I’ll keep it short, for the sake of brevity. You’re an ass

 

Cheers,

Cookie