Wednesday, June 20, 2007

A Few reasons I want to date a spoken word poet

For as long as I can remember, I guess it was as soon as Nucleus' "Jam On It" massaged my eardrum if my recollection serves me correctly - I made a solemn oath(with one hand in the air and the other on an Africa Bambaataa poster) that I would proudly live the remainder of my existence as an MC. Before I knew it my nonsensical paragraphs merged into a solid 16 lines, rhymes that once made my friends cringe with embarrassment all of a sudden made them listen with a new found curiosity - similes soon became my imaginary friend, telling kids that I battled during recess period that they would "face defeat like a foot fetish" and "meat their demise like Hypertension". Throughout Junior High and High School, I intensely studied MC'ing between track practices and my penchant for sporadically penetrating some poor bastard's daughter - I honed my skill set the same way a Ninja hones his, religiously practicing my craft as if doing so would one day give me that piss yellow glow around my body like Taimak's from "The Last Dragon" and shit.

Even though I eventually gave up the pipe dream of professionally slaying any verbal wordsmith that crossed my path, I never gave up rhyming all together - akin to a one time college prospect who never quite made the NBA, exercising his demons by mercilessly dunking on old men and any other garden variety motherfucker that gets between him and the basket at his local YMCA. But in 1997, with my rapping career a distant blur in my rear view mirror, something happened that re-ignited my love for words and performing in front of people - to simply put it, I saw "Love Jones". Even though I currently see that flick as being as detrimental to black folks as Ronald Reagan(more on that later), at the time it was the first black movie I had seen in a while that treated its audience like adults - giving us characters we could relate to who weren't packing automatic weapons or preaching to us like a bunch of sinful congregation members. Besides, it made poetry sexy for the first time that I could remember - before that point whenever I thought about poetry, images of girls laughing in my face as I publicly expressed love for them in iambic pentameter flooded my subconscious like Vietnam flashbacks.

Yes, for a very fleeting moment I was a spoken word poet, primarily for the ass though - pandering to the sensibilities of all the juicy ass owners in attendance, during my poems I'd actually wonder which woman's sarong or head-wrap I'd ejaculate on that particular night. But as soon as I could experience the wealth of ass coming to yours truly from my witty wordplay and well placed metaphors, the market got flooded with male poets who had the same idea that I did. In no time flat everyone who grew dreadlocks and could recite "Love Jones" verbatim thought that they were world renown poets, better looking men with lesser writing skills than I stole all of my "ass opportunities" right from under me - a shallowness exhibited by my sisters that I've never forgotten by the way. I distinctly remember performing a poem that I poured my heart and soul into, receiving applause mind you, but getting nowhere near the love from the ladies that I should have - my poetry experience ended with me on my knees outside, in the pouring rain, looking up at the heavens while shaking my first screaming "GODDAMN YOU LOVE JONES!!!!!"

But despite my contempt for the movie "Love Jones" and all the posers in poets clothing that it spawned, I've always wanted to get with a spoken word artist - albeit briefly. I just think the process of courting her would be the stuff that documentaries are made for, let me explain.

Pick-up lines: Not for nothing, but I think the process of trying to coax her into my bed would be as enjoyable as actually having sex with her as I stare at a statue of Buddha in the background. Maybe my sense of humor would win her over in the end, she might possibly attempt to choke me the fuck out with her head-wrap - but at least I would find saying the following pick-up lines funny: "Baby, I want to mercilessly fuck you on a bed full of Patchouli.!" or "Come on Phenomenal woman, strip for me while I recite "Still I Rise" - at least I wouldn't be lying!!"


I'd call out her poetry sistren: There is a specific period in a relationship that I cherish, a point when the relationship stops being in jeopardy if you voice an unpopular opinion - this is when I'm at my most comfortable, aggressively addressing my girlfriend's mother's crack problem or how her best friend has had so many children that her vagina could double as a clown-car. I'm sure I'd ask her friend who just waxed poetic about "Respecting herself" on stage about the time she went down on a 65 year old man for studio time, I'd openly wonder how her college room-mate could recite a poem about the "Hoochies in Music videos" when she's fucked every member of the house band on some truly "Fleetwood Mac" shit. I know that there are sisters out there with positive poems who walk the walk in real life, no doubt, I just think that I was put on this beautiful earth of ours to call the others out.



She'd reference me in her work: If I ever dated a coffee-shop chick, I'm certain that she would use me as a point of reference in her poems - but they would be of such a negative nature, that all her friends would assume that she was talking about a past lover. I mean, she wouldn't recite poems with titles like "I hate you!", "You weren't lying about the Pre-ejaculation", and "Die Black Bastard Die!" about me while I was in attendance - her friends hearing my lady pour her little heart about what they think are horrible ex-boyfriends, them then momentarily looking at me with very sweet "I'm glad she's with you now" looks on their faces. But little do they know that all those poems were indeed about me, I did make her dress up like a catholic school girl while screaming "Here comes communion!!" preceding me receiving oral sex - and that part about us having rough sex to "The Muppets Movie" Soundtrack, thats me as well. Now, when she gave her own very teary eyed rendition of a Jill Scott song entitled "This is the way he Shoves me!!", that's not about me.

3 comments:

jameil1922 said...

you are insane. lmao @"Die Black Bastard Die!" huh-larious.

Serena said...

My husband got a poetry chick completely by accident. Poor bastard never knew what was coming.

Legacy Leonard said...

Ohmigoodness...HILARIOUS...fricking HILARIOUS