The muse is still on pilgrimage and I’ve had ample time on my hands, time to love…
…And I’m not talking super emotionally involving, personality crushing, intelligence ruining, scapegoat volunteering love; I’m talking about the love a young man has for the world and the little joys it brings.
It’s because of this love I put up a status update on my Blackberry that read:
I want to write for someone
I started writing for ladies a long time ago. Actually by writing for my partners in puppy romance as a ‘youngerster’, I continued till the puppy mindedness was eventually whacked out of me. I still write from time to time but it’s been a while, and because of all this love oozing out of me recently, I just needed someone to volunteer to be my object of flattery for five minutes. None of my ‘BBabes’ volunteered. They were all too busy admiring purple shoes, fighting with all their friends and taking up roles in Gossip girl. I went to bed defeated, like a man that made his first million dollars on a sick bed, plagued with a terminal disease.
I woke up this morning with a creativity hangover that kept me moody throughout the day so I decided to write anyways.
This one is for all the ladies all over the world who read Afro,
My women are perfectly imperfect, whatever that means to you, I’m just saying that you’re imperfectly perfect.
And I am too, so let’s skip pretend, I love you love me shouldn’t be twisted.
You love twisted? You’re ready to jump off the deep end?
No you’re not? So don’t ask me to. Till further notice, here’s what I wouldn’t do:
I won’t catch a grenade for you, it’s stupid (and we need me around). I’d rather throw enough to make you proud.
I won’t be your scapegoat, I’m lucid. So how does a cowboy sound?
Fair enough? You’re smiling. I’d do my best to make you happy:
I’d be kind
I’d be tender
I’d spend some more
I’d make ‘A’s at every class,
best student, love-school!