Sabotaging a new relationship

I'ma throw a few words out there , perhaps there's stickiness

Caveat: I spent last night listening to Barry White, Motown Classics and Old school Hip-Hop on a street corner while having a Heineken... Methinks it might color the tempo of the thrown words... hee hee

There's something wrong.
I feel a game comin on
I'm not one who leads people on
So i pay attention if my intuition's strong.

It's nothing specific. If it were I could put my finger on it, describe it, prescribe for it.
I can't.

I like you. A lot.
Perhaps our friendship was made for something different.
The cosmos banged us into each other so I could teach Alexis French
or acquire shoes to give away
or for money reasons
a different kind of season...

Maybe it's a timing thing... or a Rhyming thing :-P

I want to discover and kill the wrongness,
but I also refuse to prolong, when something is wrong.

So what does all that mean?
I'm not easily hurt, but I know what it feels like
I'm not a game to be played; regardless of how glorious the endeaver.
The ending is always the same.
There's a winner and a loser.

I've Got This Hood Habit

I reside in an urban area 1 mile from downtown and 1/3 mile from the water in the city where I Live.

Now when I say urban, I mean the Hood.

I'm broke so I usually stick close to home and walk everywhere; to the water, downtown or just around the hood when I feel like it. When I walk around I stand out. There are many neighborhood peeps who walk but they aren't shlepping around Ralph Lauren totes full of writing stuff and strolling. They are looking for a fix, not inspiration to write about.

I thought by now they'd be used to me. It's been months, but I still attract a lot of attention.

Now I don't mind talking to people. In fact, I know everyone in the hood (to many a snob's disgust.) But the attention gets more intense once I open my mouth. The conversation is always some variation of:

Them: Yo ma
Me: wassup, hello
Them: Dayummm
Me: Well you have a nice day.
Them: Hole up, Hole up
Me: I'm actually on my way- C-ya
Them:Whay you from? You talk white
Me: smile
Them: Whay you from? You ain't from here.
Me: There you go
... and on and on and on

Now the conversation is old but not bad. It's that as I start strolling away, inevidably they follow and start getting louder and louder. That part's urksome. Safety becomes more of a concern the closer a motherfucker gets to you. Moreover, everyone watches everything. Negros following you around really gets the hood talking.

But no on is gonna stop me from walking in my own neighborhood dammit. So I have this habit. I talk to myself on a dead cell phone. No one will interrupt you if you are talking on the horn.

Now, I can still be polite and wave or nigga-nod to everyone on the street. (everytime they call me "red," it tickles me) I can stop and talk if I want to, and there's the added benefit of letting me talk out the thoughts in my head.

Yes. I understand talking to myself is neurotic. Even with a prop.

But it works.

;-)