Stray Bird

Stray Bird

I was never one to fit in,

I was always meant to stand out

And never in a good way.

People do things for clout

And I don’t even know what I want

I don’t know what I seek

I have no ambition

I’m often powerless, often weak.

My parents told me I was a fluke

That I was a mistake

They taught me so much

But funnily, it didn’t take.

I try to fly with the other guys

And that never happens right

I fall back and I die on the inside

Every time I fall from a height

I don’t have a purpose

No goal that I want to achieve

So far I’ve been a lonely parasite

Only taking, with nothing to give

I don’t know when my life ends

But I hope it does soon

It’s lonely to be a stray

Nursing at your own meaningless wounds.

Pie.

Pie.

They met by accident.

He was taken, she wasn’t.

He had a tattoo of his pregnant girlfriend’s name. He was at the bar one Saturday night after a long day at work and the bartender was cute.

Numbers were exchanged.

The bartender was a rich heiress who liked to go incognito and pick up guys on Friday nights. The longer the commitment, the better. She had a fetish for men that had been claimed by other women. She loved to chew them up and spit them out. She loved to build them up, and then tear them down. She had a theory: you needed to know their story before you got into their pants.

Sexual freedom was something she was obsessed with.

She’d set sights on him the minute he walked up to the bar and downed his first tequila.

He loosened up after a couple drinks and said he needed to get away from his girlfriend of seven months. She said she wanted him. All seven inches of him. He was taken aback. He’d never met anyone who had such accurate assessment of the human anatomical calculations, before. She said she was a pro at it and they left the club, together, his drunken arm around her waist.

She took him home.

He was aroused and wanted to do it. She said she was hungry and needed to get some dinner. He suddenly remembered he was famished too, and asked her what was for dinner.

The last thing he remembered was a butcher’s knife and her saying, “You”, before he passed out.

Two hours later, she added some garnish to the human meat pie and drove down to the suburban home he shared with his girlfriend. She left a box on the porch with a note that read:

“I did you a favor: your loyal ass deserves better. He was a cheater.”

Beard.

Beard.

Silvio hated life. It was the same old routine, every single day.

Eat, sleep, hustle, die, repeat.

He’d been on his own since he was sixteen, when his parents divorced. His mum died while he was still in college and his dad was beyond just absent.

His very first job at the pizza joint around the corner taught him that being an immigrant wasn’t ever going to work in his favor. His boss was rude and Silvio managed to graduate school and joined a law firm. It wasn’t fun, being a criminal lawyer. None of his relationships lasted and he kept going into a dark place.

One night, on his way home after a quick briefing with a client, Silvio got stuck in a God-awful thunderstorm.

The traffic was insane and he checked his watch: twelve forty five AM. He’d been stuck for almost two hours. He scratched his beard and turned on the music. It was going to be a long night. Most days he would get first grade a-holes, but his newest client, Tom, seemed harmless. If only he knew if Tom was actually innocent! The guy had such an open face, and to be accused of murder at twenty was too much.

Silvio was sharply awakened by a loud tapping on his window. The clock showed three AM and he must have dozed off. It was Tom. Pleasantly surprised, Silvio rolled down the window – only to be horrified as Tom, with livid eyes and a suddenly evil face, pointed a gun at Silvio’s head.

“You better keep me out of jail, you stupid old man. I killed my ex because she deserved it, and I will kill anyone that tries to have me arrested.”

Silvio put his hands up, trying to stay calm.

“Tom, put the gun away. We can talk about this.”

Silvio looked around out of the corner of his eye: the streets were deserted and the storm had cleared and there was no way anyone would come help. Heck, his phone was out of arm’s reach too. Calling 911 wasn’t an option, either. And his beard was really scratchy. He was both annoyed and scared. Tom was still pointing the damn gun at his head.

“Are we clear? I don’t wanna go to jail!”

The kid’s hand was steady and Silvio wondered how he’d ever been convinced that he’d finally gotten an innocent client. He was doomed to deal with criminals. For the rest of his life.

“I can’t promise that. I still have to look through your files, Tom. Manslaughter is a pretty serious offence. It’s a crime!”

“Then I have to kill you too. What kinda lawyer doesn’t defend his own clients?”

Tom pressed the cold muzzle of his gun right between Silvio’s bushy eyebrows. The metal felt cold and menacing, and Silvio closed his eyes, preparing to die, wondering how badly his blood would stain the customized interiors of the brand new BMW. And he didn’t want to die at forty-three.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, he felt a sharp tug on his beard and something whipped the gun out of Tom’s hand, knocking it to the ground. Something salt-and-pepper looking, something keratinous, wrapped itself around Tom’s neck and Silvio watched, horrified, as something choked Tom to death. Silvio felt his face and his beard purred. He looked at his reflection in the rear-view mirror: his tough, scratchy beard was no longer close-shaven and tame-looking. It now resembled a ravenous snake.

That was the first time the Beard saved Silvio’s life.

(Inspired by Rohan’s Beard .)

A Different Kinda Love

A Different Kinda Love

My hands won’t stop shaking.

My anxiety is flaring up like crazy today.

It’s become a thing.

It started back in the day when I was dating this amazing man, almost a decade my senior, and he loved me. But he also hated a part of me. He hated it when I had mood swings or couldn’t function. He hated it when I couldn’t hold my pen to get a story out for the papers. We were struggling.

I called it off.

He called me a gold-digger and he trashed me all over social media. He dragged my community and he called my family names. He loved to hate me. And I didn’t retaliate because somewhere I knew, I deserved to be killed and yet, here I was, alive, breathing.

Epileptic.

I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it – not when I had those random falls in the bathroom during my shower. I’d hide things. I would lie and say my bruises were from rigorous gym sessions. Only because I didn’t want pity, all I wanted was a little pampering. A whole lotta love, maybe. But then you can see the feelings shift in a person’s eyes – specially when you’ve been with them for five whole years. And we weren’t getting any younger.

I was twenty-five when I left him. He’s now thirty seven and still very available. I’m on medication and his bank balance stays healthy because he doesn’t have to spend on my diseased body. The only availability I hope for myself is bioavailability.

It’s been two years since I married my doctor. He gives me everything: comfort, cuddles and my regular dose of carbamazepine.

Meanwhile my ex is out there, hating, but blissfully unaware of what happened to me. I’m glad. Someday he will move on. I hope it happens soon. I hope he meets a nice, healthy woman, someone that doesn’t give him seizures to deal with, but gives good morning kisses instead. I hope. And I pray.

He’s a good man. He deserves it.

Oh, Jaclyn

Oh, Jaclyn

Oh Jaclyn, why are you slackin’

Making lipsticks full of holes?

Tacky silver packaging with that rhinestone

With the actual product covered in mold!

Oh Jaclyn, why are you lying

Selling contaminated lipsticks from twenty fifteen

Your company name doesn’t match the logo

Are you sure you didn’t go thrifting?

Oh Jaclyn, you’re so problematic

All your launches and collabs always have some issues

Then you go on Snapchat, crying

Crying fake tears, reaching for overpriced tissues

Oh Jaclyn, I’m so sorry

There are drama channels talking about you

People are speculating, formulating theories

Why don’t you come out with it, just say what’s true?

Oh Jaclyn, you need divine intervention

And a break from trying to make a quick buck

Maybe go on Kasamba because you need it

Since you’re running out of luck.

Oh Jaclyn, I wish at this point

An actual microbiologist would come through

With photos of what’s going on with those lipsticks

A logical explanation, with concrete proof

Oh Jaclyn, please recall your products

Do some damage control as soon as you can

Your lipsticks are a health hazard,

You might be losing followers: you need to go save those Stans.

Backstory.

The beauty community can’t catch a break. There’s a new scandal each week. Jaclyn is a twenty eight year old YouTuber that’s recently come out with her own makeup line, and she’s been teasing about it since 2015.

Four years later, we have her brand, Jaclyn Cosmetics.

What’s the issue? Um, her first ever product, a cream lipstick, So Rich, that has twenty shades to pick from, also comes with hair, holes, bits of plastic and mold. Actual mold. The logo on the lipstick doesn’t match the logo on the unit carton. This led YouTuber Raw Beauty Kristi to theorize that the JH (for Jaclyn Hill) on the product must have been PRE-Jaclyn’s divorce from husband Jon Hill. The brand is called Jaclyn Cosmetics but the tube says JH:

Jaclyn Cosmetics is the shadiest new brand on the Internet:

• People that paid for expedited shipping never received their products early.

• Jaclyn never sent out PR packages ahead of time – to push sales because there were no negative reviews to begin with.

• Negative comments have magically disappeared from every Instagram post of theirs.

• As if all of that wasn’t enough, there’s been no damage or quality control and Jaclyn has been caught lying about gloves used in her lab. She’s also neglected coming out with an offices statement to clear all the air. Shady, hella shady. The lipsticks also keep balling up in places. Solid balls. And they have holes like I mentioned, plus filaments that look suspiciously moldy. Of course, a normal lipstick never does that.

There’s a very important lesson to be learned from here: don’t put anything out into the market till it’s perfect and don’t announce it to the planet when you’re not even ready.

Are you following the drama? Ooh, and did you like my poetry?

Stuff I Failed To Comprehend THIS Year

Stuff I Failed To Comprehend THIS Year

It’s almost the end. Of the year, that is. And 2018 was all over the place. I remember all of us praying, like we typically do, for a beautiful new year just last year and then we got well, a load of crap.

The only good thing that came out of all that crap was probably the Me-moji. Case in point:

While this is very cute and seems to have very fine teeth and all, there’s a million things that made me very unhappy this year. Let’s start with the very obvious, shall we?

1. Atrocious Grammar and Catchphrases:

This was the year of the worst grammar out there. I fail to see how “I’m shook”, “It’s lit”, or “It me” makes any sense. Okay, I maybe a bit of grammar nazi, sure. But I’m also pretty sure that *most* English teachers on the planet are actually smacking themselves on their foreheads.

Also, what’s “She’s quaking” supposed to mean? What’s with the overuse of the word “sister”? Why is it okay to say “I’m sister shook?”

Well, young lady/man, I’m sister shook at your sister atrocity. In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, stop reading and Google James Charles YouTuber.

2. The Over-saturated Market:

There’s this pretty huge Instagram page called TrendMood1, and I think she should change her handle to The Enabler. I’ve never seen someone so influential. She could even sell a used tissue, she’s that convincing.

And she’s been phenomenal in helping saturate the already over-saturated beauty industry.

It used to be Kylie Cosmetics alone that would pump out new launches. But now, we have every other brand follow suit. We can’t keep up, and our wallets and finally our interests follow suit. This is coming from a makeup hoarder. I used to buy a lot. I used to buy a lot in 2017. Heck, even in June this year. But now? Every time there’s a new lipstick out, it’s like I’ve seen it before.

3. Bookstagram Drama:

It’s bad enough we have so much drama in the beauty industry, but now it’s spilled over into the world of Bookstagram too.

It all started with my good friend Faroukh talking about sponsorships and ads. Which actually started off a little bit of a war. And then it quickly escalated. And then it moved to Twitter. I don’t think it’s wrong to expect payment for content you’re putting your heart and soul and time and effort into. It’s only fair that when you’re creating content for someone, you expect to be paid. With actual money. No one should be working for free, right?

But oh boy. It did rub a few people the wrong way. And before we knew it, up went a post talking about how freedom was too important and how money doesn’t count. Oh dear. To think we had drama only in the beauty community. What’s next? Gym membership drama? Oh. Popcorn time.

4. Apple and The Crazy Prices:

So Apple is really testing people with the crazy prices. In India, the new iPhone XS Max is priced slightly higher than a tiny car called the Tata Nano.

While there’s no denying the fact that the new phones are beautiful, it does get my goat sometimes knowing that you’d have to buy extra attachments in order for your phone to be properly functional. The stock adapter isn’t gonna come equipped with fast charging. Which is so annoying.

When you pay so much for a phone, it has to be perfect, right? But it is a beauty. Takes amazing shots, you see. Wow, I’m contradicting myself.

And finally…

5. Wedding Fever:

Everyone is getting married.

Everyone. Celebrities. Common folk. Puppies. Like, what the heck?

I don’t understand how people suddenly develop these weird fevers and then go about doing all of it like crazy on crack.

I know at this rate, I’m going to be the last grandma standing.

Help.