So you'd like to date my daughter,
This I can tell,
So line up behind the others,
And I'll see if you suit her well,

Now come here boy,
Just one to one,
Man to man,
It's okay, I may look stern, But I love to have fun,

So, son, what do you like,
Oh come on, you know what I mean,
What's your favorite curve on a woman's body?
Like *******, legs, thighs, ****, and do you like em thick or like em lean?

Oh ******* you say?
I see... I see...
Get out of my sight!
If you still want her, you will have to **** me!

Ah, you look like a nice chap,
what's your pleasure?
What's your favorite curve on a woman's body?
On which does her beauty measure?

Oh you like her rear?
Oh, well I do hope you like my daughter's,
For that's all you'll see as she walks away with me from you,
Sickening, disgusting, these gentlemen, not gentle but marauders,

Oh so it's legs?
Don't leave now and I'll break yours,
Oh so it's thighs?
Get out of my way! I'll find one who'll make her heart soar!

Last but not least...
Will I find no peace...?
So young man, I will ask you the same,
What of a woman has your testosterone release?

Well good sir,
Your daughter's attractive,
I cannot put this in ample words,
But it is not of that that she has my heart held captive,

I've heard you've asked of her body,
And my sir, if I may have the nerve,
For it is her smile, it is any woman's best curve,

Treat her well son.

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.

There's that saying,
"Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words can never hurt me."

It's true.

Cause words, words don't just wound.
A single word can bring utter devastation or long-awaited salvation.
No. Words never hurt. They transform.
They create, they grow.
We are all, after all, just big fleshy piles of words.
We're defined and redefined and undefined until we can't defy what we are.
We are words, searching for words, living on words,
waiting for words, to bring us to words.
Words can be violently beautiful and poignantly painful, and powerful, and poetic,
and pure.

Sticks and stones are toys.
Words are tools,
and tombs;
They get tied together 'til tongues get twisted and truth is torn,
but they can be pulled apart 'til they perfectly portray a point...
And my point is this,
that life is nothing more than words,
*just words well-worn.

My very good close friend said
his legs were trying to be
as close to mine as possible.
He wanted me to run
my fingers through his hair
one more time,
but I can't oblige him
with this condition
I'm in and am.
A light brush of the arm
here and there to tell him
I'm still interested in his
story.
I'm jumping to the end
of it already, ******,
leaping practically
to the end of the
fairytale when
Cinderella says
**** it and
files for
irreconcilable
differences.