Page 1 of Love You Like That

“Iw r i t ef o rthe ones who ain’t made peace wit’ the mirror. For the boy who got jumped, then grew colder and then realer. I write for the ones who bleed in bars. Tattoo pain into rhythm, got trauma behind every scar. For the one-eyed poet wit’ a past he don’t speak, who learned early love ain’t for the hurt or the weak.

I write for the hood, my hood, where the flowers don’t bloom. Where they bury babies in spring and mothers wail at the moon. For the girl wit’ the pain in her laugh who sips wine wit' her girls but feel broken in half. I don’t write for applause, don’t write for clout. I write to survive. To pull the hurt out.”

My voice faded into the dark hush of the room, thick with heat, Vape smoke and liquor. A few folks hollered, snapped, and clapped like their hands were testifying.

“Aight then, Ezra!”

“Say that shit, bro!”

“You killed that, Lowe!”

I gave a slight nod, slid the mic back into the stand, and stepped down slowly from the makeshift stage atThe Lit Room. It was an underground lounge where my boy Mekai bartended most nights. As I made my way through the crowd, a couple daps and hugs came my way. Some came from familiar faces who’d seen me spill myself in lines more times than I could count.

“You still got it,” Mekai grinned, leaning over the bar with two shots of Henny already waiting. The lights bounced off his gold grill as he handed one to me. “That last line? 'Pull the hurt out?' Nigga, you spazzed.”

I tapped the shot glass to his. “That’s ‘cause I’m fucked up, bro. Still pullin’.”

He laughed and knocked his shot back. “Ain’t we all. But real talk, it’s time you stop playin’ small. That poem?” Hepointed at the stage. “That’s not local heat. That’s somethin’ they need to hear worldwide.”

I sipped slowly, letting the burn coat my throat before answering. “I ain’t built for that shit.”

“Fuck all that,” he said. “You got presence that comes wit' a voice and a story to tell. Plus, you got that mysterious one-eye thing goin’ for ya. Bitches love a lil’ danger.”

I smirked. “You sound like my PR rep, nigga.”

“Iamya PR rep, unofficially, mahfucka. Now,” He leaned in, eyes cutting past me. “You peep shorty in the back?”

I didn’t have to turn. I already knew who he was talking about. The third time she’d been here. She sat in that same corner every time, laughing low with her girls and sipping something red. Skin glowing like brown sugar in candlelight with thick locs tied up in a burnt orange scarf. She wore big ass bamboo earrings spelling “QUEEN” and a tight brown dress that hugged her frame. She was slim thick and looked like a late summer night in the city. All warm, unpredictable and unforgettable.

“I seen her,” I said, still facing the bar.

“Bro, she been lookin’ at you.”

“Nah,” I corrected, “she beenlistenin’to me.”

He clapped me on the back. “Even better. You gon’ talk to her tonight?”

“Thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

Just then, a girl slid up beside me. Skin deep honey, lashes thick, and her titties practically introduced themselves before she said a word. “Ezra, right?” she asked, eyes low and sticky. “That piece you did? Gave me chills.”

“‘Ppreciate it,” I said, nodding but not leaning in.

She bit her lip, fingers grazing the ink on my forearm. “You got a girl?”

I glanced past her.Shewas gathering her things. Laughing at something her homegirl said, sliding the rest of her drink to the middle of the table, grabbing her tiny purse. Time was ticking. I stepped back and nodded toward the door. “My fault, sweetheart, but I gotta catch somebody.”

Mekai snorted. “Run, Forrest.”

I gave him the finger as I dipped through the crowd, the hum of music and conversation swallowing me until I pushed the door open and stepped into the sticky summer night. It wasthe middle of June and the air smelled like fried food, weed smoke, and heat. Streetlights bounced off the sidewalks.

I spotted her half a block up, walking with her girls in high sandals and flowy dresses. Her head fell backward as she laughed, and I swear it echoed straight down my spine. “Yo.”

She turned around first. Her girls slowed behind her, eyeing me like I might be trouble, which was fair. I probably was. Her eyes narrowed. “You talking to me?”

I smiled. “Ibeentalkin’ to you.” That made her stop completely.

She angled her body toward me, still keeping one heel planted like she wasn’t about to let me get too close just yet. “You’re the poet, right?”

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