(I’m gonna try not to edit these “Untitled Documents”. I’ll leave them here as checkpoints and artifacts. Enjoy)
I tried writing a letter about the bongo drums and the neon orange tables, but my hand seized up. I Google: How to write something shallow, though poetic. Mundane, though interesting. Something to get you smiling all the way from from [Florida]- like those old, white poets you adore. You shouldn’t sense the tear-stained page or the zizz knocking at my eyebrows. I know that letters laced with big words are your favorites. I imagine you devouring similes like dates and mangoes with metaphors rotting your teeth. I’ve read your work. You do it best.
It used to be easier to write something of substance- or maybe, once, I didn’t give up so easily. This was supposed to be a love letter, but please forgive me. All the sweet-nothings fell out of my ears and onto Baltimore Ave. Usually, my rides aren’t this bumpy and I’m coming from a better place. I thought thinking about you would take me there. Usually, it does.
I think- you have the power to make a thousand people smile all at once. I am a thousand miles away and there are several thousand people in between us. And the probability of you settling for me is…
Chillin' with the Bey 