If I were a boy
I would have so much less fear
I wouldn't always have to look behind my back
And be wary of who I choose to keep near
I wouldn't have to be scared about being assertive
When the guy who's flirting with me makes me disconcerted

If I were a boy
I could go out for a jog
And run in a remote area
I could go hiking and camping all alone
And not have to worry
About being ***** and murdered

If I were a boy
I wouldn't have to question what clothes I wear
Hiding myself under layers,
Because I'm scared
That I'll be abused and ravaged
If I'm attrative

If I were a boy
Reading the news about
The **** and ****** of women
Might not affect me as much as it does
It wouldn't make me reconsider
If I should go outside today,
Ride my bike alone today
Make sure the door is locked and the alarm is set
So hopefully I can get my rest
Without fearing for my life

If I were a boy
Maybe I wouldn't imagine
What it's like to be a woman
Going about her life,
Suddenly attacked by a stranger,
Struggling for her dignity and then her life
Dying under the crushing force of hatred in her killer's eyes

If I were a boy
I wouldn't understand the reasons why a woman would be scared to be a woman.

I was in the forest one day,
With my friends and marrows,
All of us were very gay,
We were happy and out of sorrows.

Suddenly my eyes caught a pretty jill,
She was pacing like a hart,
To talk to her was my will,
She made place in my heart.

I forgot all seeing her glamour,
Going to her was my intention,
I was captivated by her murmur,
She turned back realizing my action.

As moon was her beautiful face,
And eyes were brighter than stars,
She looked as she would reside on stars.

Her foot were light and hair long,
And was attrative, too much smart,
To the fairies, she must belong,
And her song touched my heart.

She pointed at me to move with her,
We were advancing an edificeward,
She was too, I was very gay with her,
Touched my heart her every word.

Reaching edifice, it began to rain,
He face turned into full of pain,
Telling her tragedy, her eyes began to rain,
I consoled and assured her to fain.

There she fed me fairy's food,
And her eyes showed love for me,
She sang a song in fresh mood,
Hearing her song, I was very gee.

She refused me to go back,
And gave me a bed to sleep,
I felt comfort when I put my back,
She came and lulled me asleep.

My eyes opened at mid of night,
In slaughter house I found myself,
I stood and saw a horrible sight,
Cut heads were lying and nowhere my elf,

Suddenly she appeared with a sword,
And was advancing towards me,
She didn't speak even a word,
And reaching, she stood near me.

While laughing she turned a bad spirit,
I was about to be slain by her hand,
With God's grace, she was badly hit,
By an angel, she killed and fell on the sand.

(14th February,2006)

bad idea...
   she was sitting with a group of fwends
in a univerity accommodation,
two girls by the stove
butchering a method of making
pancakes...
the pancake dough kept sticking
to the pan, not allowing the flip...
does a man always have to intervene
in these sort of scenarios?
ladies, ladies,
you need to grease the dough up!
yes... that implies pouring
some oil into the dough,
which subsequent implies
    oiling up the pan a little...
the first pancake always behaves
like a little frankenstein,
but all the others?
  snow white, sleeping beauty...
you name, you'll get it...
pancakes...
   what have we become,
when a man has to tell a woman
about the ins and outs
of making pancakes...
               huh?
       so she saw me,
looking like a complete train-wreck...
once donning dreadlocks,
russian...
pale as any victorian cenobite
princess...
        she snatched my iPod
  (when i owned one), started rambling
about my iron maiden oeuvre
and my liking of tool...
she munched on the pancakes
with the usual yum-yummy-yum
out burst...
   attrative? not really...
she just kept pushing and pushing
and pushing her agenda...
until i cracked,
she liked the bedroom centered around
the use of candles...
a quasi take on the crow movie...
ever see love at first sight?
i've seen in, implosive and explosive
variant...
implosive?
      the sister of my ex girlfriend,
taboo topic...
                i was: hazy-eyed...
         disorientated: what?!
            in reverse? when a woman
shows signs of love at first sight?
literally: an iron maiden clench
of focus...
                    you're not getting out
of this one alive,
or... enough to suggest that,
after she breaks up with you,
then you've found work,
she's 900 miles away
and says she's pregnant...
half a year after she broke up
with you when she...
ahem... proposed...
     **** me, she even chose
the engagement ring...
   i get dumped... so what's new?
but then... i'm the one...
who has to...
pick up the pieces,
raise some *******?
      god i'd love to own a dog right now!
o hades, send me rottweiler,
a dobermann and an alsatian shepherd
all in one go!
    of course i never said
anything of this...
           russian nerd girl,
big into warhammer 40,000
figurines...
    and a newly archived
   sample of music taste...
   (hed) p.e.
           i'm still traumatized by
her memory...
       like: i really don't want to go there,
no, seriously: i really don't want
to go there...
         seeing love at first sight
in reverse...
   and then seeing the ****,
that i saw?
                 n'ah... strap me to the brothel,
i'm out... OUT!
        the next time i trust someone
it's either going to be a rabid dog,
a rabid cat,
    or that horse in a field at night,
that almost knocked me out
when it started chewing on my hand
thinking i had an apple in it...
i'll deal with *******:
on my grounds,
   not someone else's, savvy?
all this current pop self-help
psychological ******* is getting on
my nerves,
notably when in england...
thanks for the drugs...
that weight-lifting of a litre of whiskey
really helps me to counter
the once established gym
menu of weights, some treadmill,
rowing machine,
                 but plenty of squash.
love at first sight...
       once you start making
the pancakes... you're dead.
       she serves you a ******* oven
baked chicken and
     some variation
of upper-class with a slice of
lemon in a cognac glass
and you're, supposedly: "made for life"...
  why the hell was it a russian
to begin with?
   ***-wise... sure compatible...
i asked her how many multiple *******
she had in that one last night
in st. petersburg in 2007...
she said 7...
            that was fun,
i have to admit...
       for half a month while she
wason her period i implored her:
it will alleviate the pains
and cramps...
    of course she finally conceded
the remark,
****** on, bath water running...
  "improvisation" later...
   - but it's memory?
   how can i alzheimer this sort of *******?
how can i, "erase" memory
to let someone new in?
oh, ******* brainchild of genghis khan,
no one new is coming in...
soliloquy moment:
   i'm not even close to erasing
this ****, memory, memory is already
fickle in its nature,
   unless...
settled with a scholastic rubric
of the pedagogy foundations...
26 letters... they are never in order
when magnified to encompass words...
so... why this whole a b c d e f g *******?!
eh?!
           like some sort of counter
history timeline i'm supposed
to erode my brain with?!
this **** stays,
   for however many months,
and it was only months...
      something, mattered...
       the ideal, the ideal,
the ideal of me finally being able to fall,
and be, in love...
        i never found it again,
and i never will,
but i cling to the person who fell in love,
in the way as he did,
and kept it,
   until being rejected,
and then cast into a pit of lies...
   from which: i, the narrator, spawned...
and it will repeat itself, repeat,
repeat, repeat, constantly...
           not because i haven't learned
to forget: but because i haven't learned
to lie...
to craft castles from clouds in the sky...
to create the motiff of artifice...
you never visit a butcher for
a pre-cooked ready-meal...
    you go... hopefully...
   for the olaff, and the raw cuts of meat...
i abhor idealistic lovers,
these... chauffeurs of idealistic "freedoms"...
a priest wasn't going to cut it,
a psychiatrist wasn't going to cut it,
i needed just enough heart numbing
*** with prostitutes
to feel inclined to preserve the womb
of birth in my body,
as the warmth of my heart,
and then...
             enough justification to stand
akin to tombstone,
plus i paid an extra 10 quid on
top of the 10 quid entrance fee to the brothel
and the 110 quid for an hour's
worth with a bulgar woman...
           so... i could speak from
******* on a ***** of a thousand
***** a thousand tongues.
       lucky me... "apparently" the kid wasn't
mine... "apparently" she was dating
her old boyfriend when she split
up with me...
        she married, divorced...
       married again...
****** here and there...
              would there have been any
point in fathering a *******
compared to this compensation
of written words?
          i don't think so...
          but at least now i know...
i can trust a *******...
          she'll at least tell me...
that she has s.t.d. checks regularly...
and to think,
in what some people would call
the filth and murk,
              i found gold...
                           an honest tongue,
and for what's that worth: a pure heart;
pay an extra to perform oral
*** on a ******* is one thing...
kiss one... well... quiet another; savvy?
all the words secrets become
blatantly apparent,
           no more than that,
of the "original" sin...
    when cain (the vegeterian)
              couldn't plagiarize abel
   (the meat eater)...
                    but cain...
           he's not guilty of "original" sin...
he's guilty of ******...
         if he copied abel,
    and...
                    didn't become a vegetarian...
he'd still be guilty...
   of "original" sin...
                 but hey...
                           there's some devilish
logic of conclusion in all of this...
         i just happen to have come
across my the fickle faculty of memory,
and it is, a really fickle ***** of a faculty.