let me tell you a story.

So what had happened was…

I walk into my town’s Starbucks, and I set my bag and coat down to reserve myself a table. It was cold that night, so I grabbed myself a chai tea latte so that I wouldn’t be sitting in this establishment without purchasing anything… because that would be awkward. When I got back to my table, I placed my pens, books, and notebooks onto the table; I set up my laptop and connected my wireless rose gold Beats to my computer’s bluetooth. This was the night that I wrote “rosa”; this was also the night that I had written “maxiumus”. This poem was inspired by a young man who had decided to approach me immediately after I had took my headphones off after a few hours of work. He must’ve been waiting for me to return my attention back to the world because I couldn’t event set my headphones down before he said something.

“So, are you a writer?” he asked.

I let him know that I was, and I suppose he needed me to know that he freelanced for Fox. I thought: Am I supposed to be impressed? Well, I wasn’t impressed, but I thought it was an interesting fact. Anywho, I got sucked into a two hour conversation with him, but it only got worse from that first question. This was the kind of talk you had to pay attention to.. sit real still and lean in on because I never knew if he was going to compliment me, or insult me. This was the kind of tongue where you had to roll your eyes more than once without actually rolling your eyes, and pray to God that the person stops talking because I felt that he felt that he knew everything under the sun.

After our conversation, I let him put his number in my phone. I had no intention of using his number, but it made him feel better, so I let him do it. He was that “hey you”… the “let me guess what you’re doing” (and then proceed to get it wrong) kinda dude. It took a day or two for me to really get in tune with what I wanted to come out of my mouth in response to this encounter. I tried to pick up on some of the things I was thinking. So, I bet you guessed it (or maybe not) I wrote a poem. It is titled “maxiumus”:



& it’s like what Demi said,

“you’re only brave

in the moonlight.”


Where I entertained your

Jamaican beard & Indian

hair, over a warm

Starbucks Chai Tea Latte

already gone––drippings

falling into the cup’s

bottom creases.


I noticed your cologne

was woody… sweet

while you flashed your smile

aged by air kept from many lives–

DR, India, Miami Beach.


Maybe it was your

“sensual and sexual” wiles,

hissed at me as you caressed

my lips with your eyes

or how you twisted me up

in that brain sloshing

under your black beanie hat


that had me sitting–

legs crossed, one finger

staggering my temple–


I’d rather be watching

Gilmore Girls.



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