So she asked me to write her a poem…
This seductive selective mistress of my attention,
After hearing me mention that I was a writer,
Made me proceed with caution making sure I wasn’t lost in
As I spoke a foreign language to her
“Hell No!!!!” is what I told her, but then I explained…
“My dear, please excuse my Swahili but I don’t know you from a can of paint…
I mean I would love to rub my fingers flawlessly through your palette
Paint you a thousand pictures worth a thousands words
So you can hear my words thousands of times to fully realize I exist in a one-in-a-million chance of a lifetime
I mean how would I go about writing you a poem?
It wouldn’t be hard to tell you romanticized allusions of grandeur,
Skip over the current events
Sell you a used car lot of schemes that rappers usually hear before they sign that first royalty check…
In the midst of things;
It only fogs your perception of me…
and maybe hat’s the only way I think you will pay attention to these metaphors, similes, fantasies, realities, and any other word that ends with –ies
I have rolled right out of the horse’s mouth to the tip of your tongue
French kissed in essays with a flirt of creativity.
I’m sorry but they don’t build friendships, partnerships, or relationships because they get easily sea sick…
I can’t just write you a poem of what you want to hear
I have to lust your love for listening and disregard you conceiving me an illegitimate understanding
Naming that bastard after my comprehension
I guess in the future some intelligent git will come up to me and say that it was my offspring…
and all I can do is agree
because its my splitting image…
Lil’ nigga looks just like my poetry”
She said she like-ed it and didn’t care what anyone thought….
and I don’t think she’s a hoe just because she had sex in my poems on the first night….
She’s just a woman that knew what she wanted