Kabhi kabhi aisa lgta hai ...

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Aaj mera dusra janmdin hai…
Haan, sahi suna! Ek nahi, do janmdin hain mere – ek asli, aur doosra pitaji ke sapno ka banaya hua “custom-made birthday”! 🎂🎂

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Hey girl, I'm back! It's me inside,
Your uterus—ready for the monthly ride.
You thought this time I’d stay calm and cool?
Nope! Get ready. I’m about to rule.

No baby again? Okay, that’s fine.
Now feel these cramps—sweet little sign.
I’ll twist, I’ll pull, I’ll squeeze real tight,
Till you’re curled up crying all through the night.

Cramps, bloating, pain, and mood—
I bring them all, like a full-on feud.
You want to dress up? Go out and slay?
Too bad, babe. I'm in charge today.

Hot bag, Meftal, rest and tea—
Try what you want, you won’t stop me.
Eat all the chocolate, scream in your bed,
I’ll still dance around in red.

White pants? LOL girl, be brave.
Let’s make that outfit not so beige.
I give you drama, I give you tears,
Been doing this for so many years!

And when people say, “It’s not a big deal,”
Let them feel what you feel.
Because I bring storms in your small tummy—
And still, you show up strong and sunny.

So next time I come and make you cry,
Just remember—I’m that girl, no lie.
Love me or hate me, I’m here to stay…
See you again in 28 days.

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🌿 Maybe I Don’t Belong Here...

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I used to think he’d just move on after our fights… until one night I found out—he didn’t sleep at all. He just kept overthinking, replaying every word, every moment. That’s when I knew… he loved me more than he ever said out loud

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“They Just Said It…”

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Maybe Love Wasn’t the Only Thing

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She deleted the paragraph,
kept the “ok :)”
Because feelings?
Too heavy for a chat box.

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Divorce rate? Just 1%,” they claim,
As if silence proves there's no pain.
Women asking alimony? Barely a trace.
But still—she's shamed, erased, disgraced.

They forget:

1 in 3 Indian wives face abuse,
Not once—but as a daily truth.
Yet she stays, she hides the bruise,
And they still ask, “Why did she choose?”

86 rapes. Every. Single. Day.
And no, not by strangers lurking away—
96% by men she knew,
A friend, a cousin, maybe family too.

162,000+ child abuse cases—one year,
How many of them did we even hear?
We scroll, we sigh, we move along,
While they grow up fearing right and wrong.

And behind the bars?

95.7% of prisoners = men.
Still, somehow she gets blamed again.
She files for support—it's legal, fair,
Suddenly you act like you care?

No—
You're not saving men from shame.
You're just afraid of her speaking your name.

This ain’t the 1950s, bro.
We’ve got data. We've got proof.
So keep ranting in denial—
The numbers scream the truth.

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She was screaming quietly—
in the way that dead flowers still sit in vases,
in the way a noose hums before the fall.
Her pain was a steady drip,
not loud enough to drown,
but enough to rot everything
over time.

She laughed like it hurt.
And I clapped.
Said—“See? She’s healing.”
But healing doesn’t look like cracked lipstick
on a bitten mouth,
or mascara rivers down paper cheeks.

Continue....

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