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That Woman

SYNOPSIS: I would never say this poem was about the ‘stereotypical’ woman. However, unlike other pieces of mine, this poem is more realistic. To put it simply, I’m kind of taking the piss out of the more traditional love poem and orchestrating something that is quite the opposite in comparison. Please know, I am not trying to seem unusually cruel with some of the words and sentences that I have constructed.


That woman, she ran her hand through her hair,
and then the dandruff spilled out everywhere.
It was then that I suddenly knew,
the girl of my dreams; she wasn’t you.

That woman, she has herself a very flat chest;
in fact I wouldn’t even call what she has ‘breasts’.
I do not know what title to give to either of them,
I just know their small size, I cannot begin to fathom.

That woman, she forgot to apply mascara around her eyes,
and by God, was I in for one helluva unforeseen surprise
when I eventually saw her looking so tired and weary,
the lines around her eyes completely tarnishing her beauty.

That woman, she wears random clothes that on her person are just so tight,
and normally I would believe myself to be in for quite the delight,
for nearly all the women who wear clothes a couple sizes too small are often really sexy,
but in her case, with many lumps of flesh sticking oddly out; let’s just say the sight was not pretty.

That woman, she ate a huge chocolate cake in just one mouthful;
who knew her jaws could be so elastic or quite so powerful?
But that’s not the worst part; she ended up with most of the chocolate all over her face,
and if I had known the repercussions I wouldn’t have let her eat it in the first place.

That woman, her skin is not light nor is it dark. No, it is oddly tanned.
Unfortunately for her, such a look is not in regular demand.
In the dark she looks like a specter and in the light she looks like a grim shadow.
She looks like nothing I’ve seen before; it’s the kind of look no one wants to follow.

That woman, she has these thin lips that are lacking colour,
and the rumor is they come with a disgusting flavor.
They are not red or white or dull, and do not look at all kissable
and in a crowd, they are unfortunately so recognisable.

That woman is a foreigner; she isn’t from this state, nor is she from this country.
Just look at her! She has a completely different racial background and ethnicity.
Due to this, she has trouble with conformity, but especially with communication,
and attempting to spend even a small allotment of time with her can lead to exhaustion.

That woman, she is not tall, nor is she somewhere in-between;
no, she is short, and in large crowds she cannot even be seen.
Perhaps this could be visualised by some as an extraordinary blessing
for some have said that what makes her who she is, is really quite embarrassing.

That woman, she has this antiquated laugh and an annoying high pitched voice,
and if I were to listen to somebody she sure wouldn’t be my first choice.
What’s worse, she always says what’s on her mind without a single care in the world.
Oh why, oh why can’t she be like any other stereotypical girl?

That woman, she is corrupted, to say the least, by just so many identifiable flaws,
and I cannot wait to discover her views, her mannerisms, her personality and more,
because, right from our first encounter, she has had me wrapped tightly around her index finger,
and my heart, it has discovered the one thing that it needs, and so I am forced to surrender.

That woman, to me she is perfect in every way. That woman, to me, she is so captivatingly beautiful,
because she is just so real in contrast to anyone else that I know, and to me that is more desirable.
That woman, she has stolen my heart, my soul, and I’m cursed to love her forever.
I cannot wait to tell her how I feel so we may begin our life together.