fuckyeahkg

Listen, Ill prolly never be that guy when I walk by you lick your lips and you probably wont start switchin your hips on purpose when you walk by me. And Ill prolly never be the star of your fantasy and hell, if I was ever in your dream, youd prolly be passin me, over to that big burly guy with his shirt off, with the whip cream and hot candle wax, and thats okay cause I wanna get to know you.. before I get in you.

And my Hindu friend once told me the beauty of karma so I thought if I shared my soul, I might get one in return. In return, I wanna find my connection, not too concerned with affection cause I understand that in time, that will come.

But this is for those guys that are looking for a beautiful soul, not a quick fix. For my guys lookin for their wives, not these quick tricks. For my understand-that-our-bodies-arent-always- going-to-be-strong-enough-for-sex guys. So lookin to see if our-minds-still-connect guys.

This is for my bringing-your-favorite-flowers, sit-up-and-talk-for-hours-just-to-hear-you-laugh guys. And see, I wanna remember the color of your eyes before I remember the taste of your inner thigh. I want the color of your eyes to be the reason why I open mine and my eyes are open. And they say when you’re lookin for gold, simply start by putting yourself in a place where gold is. Im lookin for your soul, so Ill start back where your soul sits your eyes.

And this is for those guys that understand that to make love, you must first have love. This is for my destiny-is-written-above guys. This is to us needing, loving, and treating you the way a woman should be treated. All the times we loved, and all the times we mistreated our love. All our fights, arguments, and all the times we got heated because it happens, and people do that.

Now that were past all of that, now we know that love is more than physical, this is to us having the best, most amazing sex, I mean, I mean, love of our lives. Peace.

Dear, hip-hop.. I’m writing inform you I’m going to have to end our relationship. I know in the beginning I was down to work them hips, but I was tricked. Seduced by your beat. See, you had me for three minutes and fourty-six seconds I was suspended in time, but when I snapped out of it I had to ask, “Did I hear what I thought I did in that last rhyme?” Now forgive me, maybe I’m getting old or maybe I’m just slow cause I didn’t even know you could say “bitch” on the radio. But I was entranced by that beat I’ve heard somewhere before. Oh, I remember that was the original score. Now unless I’m dreaming I could have swore, right after you called me a “bitch” you called someone else a whore, and at this point I’m trying to process a few things.. What were the original words to that song, and you want me to do what with my thong? And I’m trippin’ cause nobody is acting like anything is wrong. After all, the anthem for the new millennium was “big pimpin’?” And it all seems a bit surreal, ‘cause when I was dancing around I didn’t know the damage my soul was gonna feel. And there are times I’m still compelled to move, but I swear to you it’s that old school groove that’s playing above the lyrics, beacuse if the music wasn’t there I definitely wouldn’t hear it. I thought Hip Hop was supposed to be a means of poetically expressing yourself, but it seems these days you’d say anything to get your CDs off the shelf. So let’s toast with champagne and blunts to your health, but first.. tell me why “Every other video, brotha’s gotta be a gigolo.” And you show your respect by pouring beer for the homie who’s dead and then pour the rest of that forty over some females head? And what’s crazier than is she doesn’t seem to mind but if you look past her ass, deep into her eyes you just might find a hint of surprise ‘cause she didn’t realize that the camera shot was gonna be between her thighs, and she furthers the lie, as she tries to deny, pretending like its okay. As she just gave a piece of her self-esteem away, and it aired nine times on MTV today, and all of that for little to no pay, but “He’s a hustla baby, and he told you so, and when he’s through, you’re a video hoe.” And I’m trying to make it in this business so I’ve actually stood in those high heel shoes you know? Now, when I go to the club I see a sea of young women with fake diamonds bouncing around their waist, too little clothes on her body and too much make-up on her face singing, “Ándele Ándele mami E.I. E.I. uh oh.” Were you that hoe? Was I that hoe? Or do we need to spiritually grow? Does anyone know what E.I E.I. stands for anyway? Is it eternally imprinting, exaggerated ignorance, or exploiting innocence while extremely intoxicated? I’m starting think that this Hip Hop thing has become way overrated and you dedicated an entire song to how fast my ass is shaking? Tossing around money that you really ain’t making? Didn’t I see you on court TV, accused of raping? But I’m the one hating. Huh, maybe I am ‘cause somebody needs to speak up on behalf of the woman so no, you can’t see my thong. No, I won’t back my thang up. No, you can’t big pimp me into buying your CD. It takes a king and a queen to create a real dynasty. Why don’t you set your mind free? Why don’t you back that thinking up? Maybe you’re already aware ‘cause you call yourself corrupt and it’s not hard to deduct when I keep hearing rumors that you’re going bankrupt, that you’re just claiming head Hip Hop-er in charge, spending all your money on your boys just to prove that you’re large ‘cause all your real niggas still kick it witcha and there ain’t no nigga like the one you got. So you’d ride for your niggas and you’d die for your niggas, ‘cause you’re a no-limitations nigga? What type of nigga slang and bang in the streets — a bad boy, a rude boy, a 504 boy, a hot boy, a ghetto boy? Hold up, I got this plan: stop calling yourself a nigga and a boy, and call yourself a man. ‘Cause what I really want from my niggas is to realize that it’s the root of the word that the trigger, triggering thoughts through my temple of it’s real definition, look it up, it’s simple. Number one, ignorance. Number two, inconsequential and petty. Number three, stingy and miserly. But it’s not the definition that comes as a shocker, what baffles me is that you call yourself a doctor. What are you healing, brother? And I’d really like to know, did you get that doctor degree while you were on death row? Changing your name, thinking it’ll contribute to your fame but all you’re doing is defaming yourself and your people and you wanna know why we aren’t seen as equals? Got all your jewels wrapped around your neck and your wrist, what happened to throwing up a fist? Trying to represent unity to show our pride. Now the only time you throw up your fist is to show off the fact that you bought a Rolex, nevermind the damaging effects that all of this has. Look around, it’s spreading fast. Even baby Bow Wow has his Mickey Mouse ice down, when he should be fitting those jewels into his crown. Got little kids thinking it’s the thing to hustle up your money for a little bling bling. Why don’t you sing sing the truth, playa? Money really ain’t a thing, you see, when you trade it in for your dignity. And all you’ve done is perpetuate the negativity so I challenge thee — the next time that you’re seduced by that beat, whether it’s when you go to the club, get your groove on, or buy a CD, the next time that you’re seduced by that beat, listen closely to the rhyme. And you tell me if that’s what poetry was meant to be.

Sincerely, Bridget Gray.