2010’s Peter Pan The man that’s a boy, who turns me into a little girl, He has the hands of a man, with the soul of a man, But the laughter of a boy~ that tickles me, My laughter, My soul, This boy that’s a man, Chokes my heart up into my throat, And scutules back down into my stomac, With a swiftly tempo’d rhythm. The mans that’s a boy That almost turns this cynic woman Into a little girl With the sensibilities of a naive romantic When I indulge in him… Seems to be succeeding, At suffocating those last embers Left from the blazing Notions devoid of hope That brimmed the burn for 26 years Of My laughless, tickleless, smirking Soul... It’s oxymoronic? And thus untrue? A boy can’t be a man, a woman a little girl Or do we defy normality To revel in the pleasure, That could exist In another... Reality No. I have hidden in alter realities long enough, Now I’ll indulging the contrived cliché th
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