Pennyless Writer

What is a Girl To Do

Written by Nahreen Tarzi  (c) 2005

 

What is a girl to do

when she likes a certain guy,

when she doesn’t know what to say,

when she can’t help feeling shy?

 

What is a girl to do

when she knows she’ll be no more than a friend,

when just can’t seem to make

her feelings come to an end?

 

What is a girl to do

when she can’t read his mind,

when she can’t tell whether or not

he is just being kind?

 

What is a girl to do

if she can’t turn her heart to stone,

and she just can’t help but feel

that she will always be alone?

 

What is a Girl To Do – Part II

Written by Nahreen Tarzi  (c) 2005

 

What is a girl to do

when she realizes he’s not the one,

when she just can’t understand

how she could be so dumb?

 

What is a girl to do

when he suddenly changes pace,

when her own naivety

slaps her in the face?

 

What is a girl to do

when his perfection turns to flaw,

and she just can’t help but wonder

what is was she saw?

 

What is a girl to do

when he’s turned her heart to stone,

and she wants nothing more

than to be left alone?

(to my MANN Mafia roomies)

I love my amazing MANN

and all the years we’ve shared.

I love you for all the things you’ve done

that showed me how much you cared:

For hugging me when I was stressed,

For making me ice skate against my will.

Your shoes are flippin big ones

that no one else can fill.

I love my MANN most of all

for always making me laugh.

You know me so well, inside and out,

You’re truly my other half.

My MANN is crazy.

My MANN is legit.

You’re intelligent, caring, hilarious –

My MANN is the perfect fit.

To my husband, my groomie, my Sista Jazz,

and all the delirious nights we’ve had:

I’ll miss our dyslexic Buddhist days

and all the wonderfully wacky ways

you made me smile, even when I was mad.

I love all the awkward adventures we’ve had:

Utopian Societies, “wake-up” slaps,

the many, MANY, accidental naps,

the Grapes of Wrath, the sandwich on the wall,

trying funky clothes on at Fox Hills mall,

prom dates, code names, dissecting our rat,

taking out Froggie’s macaroni fat,

our spot, wearing things sideways, our Mr. Feeny,

our first day in Desmond, our last in Eugenie,

the Speakeasy Cult, open mic, and Huesman boys,

and so many more memories of blessings and joys

that you’ve given me these past 8 years,

It’s ‘cause I love you so much I’ve been shedding tears.

But we’re married now, since 4 years past,

and though we’ll live separate, our bond will always last.

To Nicole “Poopy” Shokrolla:

I call you that with LOVE,

‘cause  you are my favorite Cookie.

You’re a blessing from above.

You are the wildly hot Ugie

who likes to eat Toffuti.

You killed a guy named Stu,

and you specialize in Poo,

though you did major in Dance,

and I know it wasn’t chance

that brought us together in 223

to tell each other stories of seeing guys pee,

to play cards and old school video games,

to sing karaoke with stupid nicknames,

to get stuck in traffic for over 3 hours,

to eat like cows and hog the shower.

We found your hidden talents and semi-crude mind.

If I searched my whole life, I would never find

another roomie as amazing as you.

I’ll miss you Cookie, you and your poo!

To A-Town, D. Peaches, my partner in crime:

It’s impossible to name all our ridiculous good times.

From creepers, to formals, to crazy ADG,

Both good and bad times with our “Delta x 3”

Lettuce on your shirt, sleeping on UHALL garage floor,

Never quite knowing what the nights had in store,

Ghetto Mondays, Jerry’s, and Custom North Star,

Cruisin around in my monkeyed-out car,

Hanging with G and laughing ‘til we cry,

Believing we should have been born a guy.

I’ll miss our shinanagins and late night chats,

the funky exchanges with all the frats.

“Go Team!…What happened?” “Fireside?”

I couldn’t have a better partner, no matter how hard I tried.

From Glow, Sangría, to Air Conditioned,

To midnight dance parties in the kitchen.

JT, Rihanna, and Britney repeated,

the balding men and bugaboos deleted,

Creeper Walks and shout outs to Jenny B!

I effing love you, dirty, ‘cause you complete me!

I love my MANN, and all that you do.

The Will Ferrell obsession, staying up ‘til 2:00,

random décor, dorky ways,

Amanda on the couch eating her Lays,

crumping, “Bring It On,” straw paper glasses,

going to the beach in between classes,

always eating, Tennis Tuesdays, TJ Maxx,

getting Amanda to eat healthy snacks,

Knotts, Blasting Miley, the list never ends,

So thanks for being my Mafia, and my very best friends.

I love you MANN!    🙂

Twas a dark and stormy night

and  all through the town,

not a creature was sturring.

They were all party bound.

The men at the club

were styled with care,

in hopes that Amanda Holm

soon would be there.

As the door flung open,

they all looked in awe,

for standing in the doorway,

it was Amanda they saw.

As she walked to the center,

she looked beautiful and fair,

but then, out of nowhere,

her face grew some hair.

She looked up at the moonlight,

and out sprung a wing.

She realized with fear,

she had forgotten one thing.

A full moon was out,

she was supposed to be in,

but it was too late.

She grew ugly new skin.

In every direction,

the men ran and screamed,

but the women stood calmly,

and plotted and schemed.

“Lets get her!” said Maggie.

“Attack!” yelled Nahreen.

And they all jumped on Amanda

in a violent mob scene.

Though they outnumbered Amanda,

they were scratched and bitten.

Then, suddenly,

Amanda turned into a kitten.

The black kitten ran,

but the women let her go.

They had had enough

of that magic-ridden show.

But something in the women

had changed that night,

for they went home with the men

without putting up a fight.

Then all the women took their men,

who had completely no suspicion,

and devoured them after mating

to complete Amanda’s mission.

Wrote this in 5th grade. 

They Told Me Not To

by Nahreen Tarzi

They told me not to get dirty.

They told me not to play a joke.

They told me not to scream.

They told me not to choke.

They told me not to punch.

They told me not to bid.

They told me not to scare the mailman,

but all those things, of course, I did!