I didn’t ask to be a woman.
I didn’t plan it beforehand,
And my parents didn’t plan it.
If I knew how this world treats women,
I would’ve definitely been born a boy,
Or not been born at all.
But I’m here.
I’m here
Where people are debating about my womb,
Judging my curvy body,
Criticizing my skin color
And fetishizing my ‘erotic’ nature.
It’s a cruel joke.
I didn’t ask for any of this.
I don’t want this reality.
I feel betrayed by my eyes whenever they open
And bring me back to my hopeless reality.
I feel wronged every time by heart beats on rhythm.
But I’m here.
And I have no choice, but to make the most of it.
I want to have fun
And make people miserable.
The natural evilness within me is fueled by my own hatred and dismay.
She is impulsive, cruel, sharp-tongued and motived.
Every time I try to be sweet and good,
She reminds me how nobody, but her, cares about my being
And all I have been through due to me being sweet and kind.
She tells me,
“This world has and will always be cruel to you,
why don’t you return it?”
And so,
I do
as she says.
The Paramour 