The Mobile Misogynist, part 2


With head hanging low he walks to the street and enters his silver Kia;

Sunglasses shroud his darkness, as he bites processed cheese rolled in tortilla.

Twenty minutes of driving, four Depeche Mode songs and he arrives at work;

Songs from youth— virginity, failed expectations and bullies that lurk.



He works in security at an upscale mall for the pretentious and prudential;

his mom emphatically said, “Mijo, take this job, it has so much potential”

She will say whatever it takes to make him leave the nest;

fall flat on his face and die with no cause- mom knows best.



Most days are filled with repeated step and racist dirty jokes;

but this night he finds a drunkard— the misogynist provokes.

“Alright mam, I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink- lets go” he states;

He speaks of kindness— his hands grope and grab – he silently berates.



With arms folded he stands and stares from his plateau of false authority;

A yellow cab arrives and enforcing her exile becomes his top priority.

Violently pushing her into the cab— while grabbing her ass and tits, a plenty;

so he can brag and beg for approval — people find him empty.



Her celebration was brought to a halt by the whims of a coward;

who had found other ways of making himself feel empowered.

She was a regular patron in the mall of the wealthy and proud;

and he had the memory to see and spot her among the crowd.



From his memory of her face he went online and found her profile for dating;

he stalked and talked and sent her a message- sent out the call for mating.

She thought he was nice and sweet — a tender shoulder to lean on;

weaseling his way into her good graces – they spoke and smiled till dawn.



He sent her abstract photos that deceived the idea of his true self;

with heart open she wanted more and he stuck the topic on the shelf.

After days upon weeks of flirting and sexting, he finally grew the nerve

He sent her a photo of his true self- his ego exposed for her to observe.



She looked at his deeply wounded spirit — facial blemished;

her doubts in his intention faded fast— her walls diminished.

He finally asked her out and she said, “yes, I would love to”;

big plans were crafted of places to go and things to do.



She spent hours preparing for her hot date;

and she left promptly — not to be late.

She drove to the address, to the spot that was given;

it was an isolated alley that she had gone and driven.



He sat in his window and watched her cower and wander;

Stealing her spirit to mend his own— power to squander.

She kneeled on broken glass and watered the ground;

His darkness and deception will not be bound.



He jerked himself to the power he stole;

breaking her, so he can feel whole.

The cycle of everything turns and turns;

the lives he destroys — burns and burns.


Part 1


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