i luv like a gay boy

the way the words look are not matching the way they look in my head.

the sentence is correct, but the romanic lettering is not doing me justice.

😩 pls share the deetsss

their flushed gaze. a story, premonition creeping like ivy across the creases of their face.

my heart hurts, too, for the familiar story, the tradition of preemptive mourning, for friends and loved ones who fade into the ink of autumn nights.

the tall friend leans over in a partial, yet intimate embrace as two part ways. the star-crossed friend watches from the bus window as if willing their safety. their head cranes to follow them until they finally drift from their field of vision. something like uncertainty, gravel, encompasses

maferefun Cleveland’s very own Magician, Echo Brown.

April 10, 1984 - September 16, 2023

the babies on the bus talk about going to John Hay and tryna convince they friend to come to John Hay. Echo went to John Hay.

just looked up and Echo’s departure date was 9.16.2023. it’s coming. i’m taking this as a sign to honor her on that day.

riding thru Central neighborhood and i’m reminded of my soror in hood faeship, Echo Brown, and she wrote about growing up in cleveland, (in Central I believe), being bright, having friends who are bright, and yet contesting with a landscape of consumption. not everyone made it.

was meant to be a one-off and not an invitation into polite small talk.

me: 😇😇😇 period.

no seepage, no puddling, no muddling about with extenuous niceties and politicks.

just plain behavior and plain responses.

and i thoroughly enjoy a boundary. 😩

bad bitches have boundaries : how i will be treated; how i receive respect. anything less is not something i will entertain.