My First Time (Poetically Speaking)
Every poet remembers their first time
That “Cherry Popper”
Be it good or bad, long or short
Deep or barely scratching the surface
We all remember…that first time we preformed our passion live
My first time however was almost my last
The story begins with a girl as most of them do
Well it began that way but ended up with two (not in the good way)
I was just a young lad at the best HBCU
Hampton University but that, you already knew
As you could imagine there was plenty to inspire a young man to become a poet on that campus
Beautiful trees, the waterfront, prestigious history, every scribes vision
But not me, I was inspired by the women!
7 to 1 ratio, with those odds, I thought I was major
Like a kid again salivating over 31 flavors
One girl in particular caught my eye
She was a California Dream, I’d give anything for her to notice me
That’s when I found out ol girl liked spoken word poetry
Wheels turned in my head as I plotted and schemed
But catching this breeze would be harder that it seemed
You see, she was an ill poet, finger on the trigger spittin like an assault rifle
My skills were puppies and kittens, kind of like Otis and Milo
But I kept at it worked day and night
Even in the middle of class until I had it just right
Finally the main event came, The Freshman Review!
Everybody was there, some upperclassmen too.
It was a perfect night, the student center was packed from wall to wall.
I could feel the itch in my throat and the sweat on my palms before my name was called
It was time to execute my plan, told myself to play it cool.
I walked over to my dream when it was time and said. This poem is for you.
That was 4 years ago, and I remember every single word of that poem to this day
How can I explain this power you have over me?
I feel like a slave chained down by your hypnotic magnetism.
I'm trapped in your prism
My defenses are down
My deepest thoughts fears and dreams are all at your disposal
I want to be the fixture in your fantasy, others would not but I would rather be fully taken by you.
For I cannot resist...this...power you have over me.
The crowd loved it, but one more that anyone else.
She made it a point for her presence to be felt.
She was a beautiful girl, but not the one I described to you so eloquently.
Her voice rang out over the crowd as she told her friends. “Girrrrl that poem was for me”
I admit, I knew her, but our previous talks never materialized.
I could clearly see the disappointment in my dream girl’s eyes.
Like Lauren said, I may have won some, but I definitely lost this one.
I was devastated. I thought my poetry spitting days were done.
What saved me was the response I received the following days about my poem.
I also gained my first family in poetry after that faithful day.
I'm so glad my first time spitting wasn’t my last.