How to Become A Man: A girl in Derbun I used to be.

He parked himself in my home;

at first I was uncomfortable only 11 I was so young.

I thought, he was a friend to my father.

Can I sit on your lap.

Then I was fifteen and it had been four years;

I had a crush on a boy; I know that’s it that’s what it was.

We didn’t know where the richness of the colors were coming from,

why the busses were always now dust smoggy free;

my mother used to complain before; but I can hardly remember her now. I remember white pants and pink sequins; I remember being foreign; but I couldn’t understand how?

I was from there Derbun. Maybe it was there. Maybe it was my genitalia.

My father told me that I’d grow into the pain; the growl that started when I was ten.

Then I was in the future; and doing to the their bodies what had been done to mine.

I wondered if it were rape. But they said they wanted it. When they said they wanted me. I thought it was weird.

I remembered dying.

He was home, and drunk. How ordinary. I was wearing yellow pants. I couldn’t sea my chest or face in the venue mirror; I’d even forgotten that my father was dead; and we’d inherited his condo. A two-story house with three rooms. Yes. three rooms, and a veranda. I’d forgotten I was infertile; and that I was glad. Now I knew what it was to have a girlfriend; how each of mine in the future were so much uglier than me in the past.

[A Rendition for 12-year olds?]

I wondered if I’d ever have a sister. Not ugly. I kept looking at her and she was so ugly, just as my father had been; I’d never seen it then. I wondered if I’d get married to somebody not ugly; where my stomach didn’t curl but id does give you larger muscles everytime I saw her face.

 

Then my mother told me: “Son, Beta-we’ve arranged your marriage.”

I hung up.

I never saw her. It’s not like I’m a virgin. And my dad shot me in my head. At the right side. I died again.

[It’s not rape when it’s your girlfriend, right.]

 

Part Next. Always Be Safe. 

[perhaps not wear [no typo] you expect it cited: at that place]

IMG_20170310_130526[1]

 

At night on dark-roads I think about your slimy cunt. It makes you wither I imagine and not wither in the suffering of development but in a way: I wanna get you back!

I wanna get you back!

[Illness Turn to Health!]

At night as your slimy cunt unravels into a dirty storied secret that no: body wants to smell; I smell it like a hater would and then I pierce it with more stench. I watch as it wiggles all slime down roads that shouldn’t be dangerous. I watch the men flint away all the way away from me; retracted like fears unfelt as I breathe in the slimy cunt that is claimed as their relative[s]. I don’t wish I could feel the stench of their relations; I wish to spread that slime that stink to every actual woman; spread it to her nostrils as the relatives of that slime; male run into hiding places of fear. A confession of how close they ache for that slimy stink. [Be Safe With That Whore; You’re Paying His Bills.]

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