by Daria James — (Takes drag of menthol cigarette) Oh, L ’amour… (Flicks menthol cigarette) Bleh! I do not even smoke cigarettes, and why am I writing with a French accent?!
This concludes my review of the month of February.
I took a poetry class back in the day. I learned about epic poems and how some people have no idea what the word epic means and use it to describe a night of drinking, bra’h. After all, that is what Beowulf was about. That, and Angelina Jolie as a seductive sea monster.
Then we talked about the great Shakespeare. Before you stop reading and think how boring he is, I would like state that we would not have Dr. Dre, Eminem, Kanye, Jay-Z, Nikki Minaj or Cardi B without the runway The Shakeman built. He was in the lab with an ink pen a pad before pens and pads and before Mr. Dr. Dre. Think about it. They all had drug-infused writing sessions, they all have loyal female followers (now known as groupies), they all made up new words. No matter how many years pass we always go back to their original works. who taught you how to smoke trees? They are beloved by wealthy non-minority people who wish they had some type of struggle other than deciding where to park their Benz. Who isn’t trying to keep it real nowadays?
Whether it is real dumb, or real art is in the eye and ears of the beholder. Do you ever wonder if Jay-Z asks his wife B to hold his beer? I am also sure, there is a corny beer-holder joke in there somewhere, but I am not going to make it.
I do not celebrate love in February, I celebrate all year by being lovable me. To know me is to love me. If you know me and you do not love me, there must be something wrong with you. Obviously you do not know me, nor the life I live. Furthermore, why are you still reading this? See, (whispering) you are the one with the problem.
Nonetheless, I digress, so let me readdress. Why pick and choose the months or days we can be nice? Either love somebody or do not. If you are a lonely heart, go out and have fun. Leave your phone in your pocket, take it back to 1995. Oh, look at me, I am writing a poetry jam. Shout out to the Rubber Chicken Slam.
…and now, a poem from a poet who did not know it. But definitely done, did it.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
This is a poem
For, I love you
Wasted your time
Like, blah, blah.