She was attractive, this good-looking bitch,
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I'd have to say.
So why she hates me so much,
someone please tell me why, I pray.
Instead of being cool, she'd rather be a thorn in which
she pricks my softer side.
This girl I'd rather not touch
is a pain in my ass!--she's quite an obstacle, a real mean hitch!
Our feud and quarrel with one another are not denied,
but I'd just as soon throttle her as sleep with her
for being such a nasty, saucy, pugnacious creature.
Her attitude aside, I rather like her looks.
Blonde and blue-eyed, she's tall and built with breasts
of perfect size.
Hot and undoubtedly quite sexy, she's deep into the books
despite her looks. Of course, I'd be unwise
to paint her as some bimbo blonde, or to suggest
that she's good for just casual sex.
But I won't deign to tell just lies,--
I will do her if she does not objects.
Like any guy, I would love to get her undressed.
She's heavy into French, and while I'm more into English
and Lit, the irony does not escape me quite so utterly.
Ah! the French and the English,--
now there's no love lost between
those two states in history.
Peace between them in times of old has never been,--
their feud foreshadowed the affray we had in the refectory.
In line, as she drew up right beside me as I
was getting steak and fish,
she just with all of herself let me have it to the hilt!
I did not want a fight. But I was ready to shove my
tray down her little throat,--
I swear, this crabbed, unholy demoness
has no conscience or any guilt
when it comes to just getting my defenseless goat
with absolute and completely unmitigated ruthlessness!
I don't doubt that if she could have my head
removed and impaled on a steak
to be flame-roasted, cooked, and casually hand-fed
to hungry dogs, she would; or just presented by mistake
on a platter like the head of John the Baptist.
I must admit, this lovely, crazy girl perplexes me.
Either I'm a sado-masochist
or just a hopeless, contradictory, pseudo-romantic freak
who just refuses to completely see
that she's no Christian like she talks and pretends to be.
I try to figure her out,--
with everyone else she's perfectly
respectful, friendly and devout;
but with me she seems to betray split-personality.
She's a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma,
that girl! Perhaps too much hypocrisy
and false religiosity
has turned her into a nine-headed Hydra,--
a sexually repressed, uptight, crabbed bitch full of acerbity
and fire, spleen, and spit.
If she were not so bent on being lethal as the Scylla,
I think that she and I could easily be intimate.
So until she decides to cast aside her phony
and pretentious animosity,
she'll always be just another--albeit
lovely--stupid girl who just will not submit.
Ngoc M. Nguyen, 12 April 2011
"To have the soul of a poet is to feel with the mind, and to think with the heart."