Thick gold hoops and fingers waves
Block parties and rap battles
Were what I knew
I wore bright colored jumpers
And answered to guys who called
“Yo ma, lemme talk to you for a minute”
Licking their lips like LL Cool J
With the mellowed stance of Snoop Dog
Talked to guys with gold teeth,
And rings that spelled their names over three fingers
I remember Friday nights
I’d just got paid
And had a basement party to attend
Those crowded parties
Vibrated by a bass from stacked speakers
And turntables where stars were discovered
Those crowded parties
Where we could all escape from reality
For at least one night
I danced to Slick Rick
Bounced to the rhythms of that Old Dirty Bastard
Grinded to the slow jams of Bell Biv Devoe
And supported all the brothers
Who promised to rock up on that mic
And rock the mic right
I was in dark clubs
When bullets were sprayed
I was in my room
When lead death came through the windows
My projects was a tomb
With no way out but in a pine chariot
I didn’t listen when Lauryn cried
“Girl you better watch out.
Some guys are only about that thing”
I looked to love to be my way out
Swayed by the lies and the sweet voices of Boys II Men
I listened to them when they promised me the world
Knowing they only had one block
I thought I knew passion
Believed I’d found and lost love
Listened to Mary J who promised to mend my heart
Swore I wasn’t gon cry
Shed no tears
I joined the line of single black mothers
Waiting for their baby’s father to come around
I joined in the chorus of
“It’s so hard to say goodbye…”
For friends, taken by a three letters
I joined the rare few who vowed to go on
Never bowing to the street medicine
That promised to make the pain go away
Those who denied an early grave
Those who denied defeat
I shed myself of the
Thick gold hoops, fingers waves
The bright colored jumpers
I left those men with their gold
Who played Boys II Men
Those false romantics
Who promised me the world
But could only offer me this tomb
Those men of false promises
I removed myself from
The block parties and rap battles
The dark clubs and the world I knew
I wanted to know more

Journal Entry 1: Saturday night, Oct 21: Match.com Soul Mate?

On a scale of 1-10 rate my experience with the product? I could have lied and described her as some exotic beauty, with raven black hair that rolled past her shoulders and green eyes that gleamed, catching even the smallest amounts of light. I could have said that she was angelic, with freckles scattered along her cheeks and dimples that winked at me every time she smiled. I could have shouted that she had the most amazing smile I had ever seen, a smile of pearly whites that sparkled ten miles off. I could’ve sworn she had a voice like silk that encouraged a tingling sensation in my spine. I could’ve said that she had a name that was music to my ears, like Catherine or Emily. I could’ve said that she was sophisticated with a touch of innocence that you only saw when she looked up at you. I could’ve lied, but I didn’t.

Instead, I told them the truth. Her name was Bertha Sperts. She was nearly six-five, but not like a model, more like a basketball player with the nickname “stretch”. She towered over me so much that I could easily see the blankets of fur that lined her nostrils as we danced that night. She had hands the size of baseball mitts that gripped my neck as we swayed from side to side, stamping my skin with bruises, and huge feet that crushed my toes with each step she took.

She was built like a linebacker and ate like one too, ordering nearly everything off the menu. Then, when she had inhaled her feast, she reached across the table with her knife and fork and went to town on my pork tenderloin. She smiled sweetly as she did it, and I stared in disgust at the scrap of meat that was trapped between her teeth. Her voice was harsh as she asked to be excused and dashed off to the ladies room. I was tempted to make for the exit, but noticed a redhead in the corner. I had no chance, but it was nice to fantasize and I was definitely willing to embarrass myself. I was used to it. I glanced at the ladies bathroom and wondered how many bones Bertha would break if she found me talking to someone else. I liked my legs intact but the redhead was really hot! I couldn’t decide what to do and before I could make a play for the redhead, Bertha returned complaining of the long line in the ladies room.

I could see that she had tried to reapply her makeup, but it seemed as if she had done it in the dark. Her skin reminded me of the worn cream leather sofa I had freshmen year at Columbia. She had scattered some blush along her cheeks and plastered lipstick on her lips and teeth. A glob of what I hoped was mascara, gathered in the corner of her eye and worse of all; my pork tenderloin was still trapped in her fangs!

She was giggling at one of my sarcastic remarks, when she accidentally burped. She tried to pretend she had hiccupped, threatening to hold her breath and God forgive me, I wished she would, just long enough for her to pass out and give me time to run. She rambled on about her job and I scanned the restaurant, contemplating my escape. I thought of faking a seizure, but couldn’t bring myself to cause the scene. I weighed quietly sobbing and telling her I had asked her on the date because I was afraid to be who I was, a gay male; but my heterosexual male loafers gave me away. I considered just pointing at something with a low “oh” and running when she turned to look; but one glance at her convinced me that she could outrun me, and maybe do some serious damage if she wanted to.
No. None of those things would work and so I sat there as she whispered about a near lesbian encounter she’d had in college and winked. I wished she would’ve just converted, but no such luck. I tolerated the huge hooves that tried to slip under my pant leg, the low hissing and the damn pork tenderloin in her teeth! I put up with it all, because through it all, I had learned a very valuable lesson. Never again would I give into the pressures of Match.com.