B. Langston Francis

Ours has always been a personal one.
He - friendly. big over the top. Me - reserved. sarcastic.

We met in February 2003. He had cute, boyish look. Pigeon-toed, with an insecure bounce in his step. Slightly arrogant, yet he maintained a level of humility that was refreshing. My best work girlfriend, loved him at first sight. I thought he was a'ight. He spoke, smooth, velvet-like, vulnerable as he read poem after poem, after poem. He spoke about being a man. A black man. He never used either word. But I heard it. A black man who had indeed been hurt by love. Yet he never blamed anyone or anything. I felt every emotion he described. He looked as if he needed to be.....

A few months later, the same friend convinced me to scribble a few lines on a piece of paper and hit a local poetry spot. I, unknowingly, had entered the last phase of a very long term committed relationship, and was looking for a non-sexual outlet. I agreed to go.

There he was. Big. Over the top. Welcoming. Talking. Laughing. Buying everyone drinks. That's who is was then. And remains. I, on the other hand, sat quietly with my best girl from work. Observing the scene. Hardly speaking. Taking it all in. He sat with a fly young cat. KA. At the time he was referred to as Superman. He, B, and later a young woman, LaLove, who seemed to be the heart of the entire scene. She, like Brian, was over the top, a little loud, aggressively confidant, and warm. Brian was attentive, gracious and kind. I remained, reserved and observant. As a crew, we grew up and became closer. In writing and life....

Again, ours has always been a personal one. Yet, any difference is magnified. By someone or something that really doesn't matter. He will always be that what if factor in my life. KA my mirror in our similar extremes. Lovie. Hell. Just cause. She is the reason there is a Brooklyn. She helped me find my passion for poetry and different mics. She took me under her wing and let me tag along as long as I could. Brooklyn has taken me the rest of the way. Yet, our friendship(s) are the ones that are put on blast whenever there is... Again no need to breathe life into what could never be explained. But in ten, twenty, thirty years, time will explain it all, as it always has. Hustle and June provided the backdrop. The four of us know that more than anyone. Intimately. This is why I can never romanticize a time other than the beginning... that was when it felt most pure...

As B says we are creative people, we live, love, disappoint, hurt... in ways most can never imagine. it is the nature of the beast. Once you create a poem based on an emotion or experience that is not quite yours, the mind is some how never the same...

The path B and I took to this day cannot be described by either of us, yet, we'd be able to interrupt the other's sentence, make eye contact in recognition, provide significant, yet intimate details, all the while receiving that infamous "Brown Sugar" scowl from others. It's never been like that. He has been many things to me at various times during the course of our kinship.

He is mine. I am his. And that's the way it will always be.

He good cop, and to my chagrin, I forcibly the bad cop. It's difficult. It's painful. It's hurtful. Yet, I brush off my knees and shoulders and keep going. Even when I don't want to. This is one of those times. We are friends, yet I don't wish to sacrifice my serenity for.... for various reasons. None of which are necessary to breathe an explanation into... Especially when I'm KNOW I am not the bad cop. Neither am I a bad person. I am simply his good friend who just will never give herself as freely to others as he is willing to do. That's his risk and his consequences. I have my own risks and consequences which are taken with much more caution than he. Again we are two very different people on two very different paths which somehow merge, meld and meet with certain people and places. They don't have to be my people or places. And I am perfectly okay with that.

Yet, he has the ability to make me laugh, cry, think, believe, and feel. Even when I don't want to. He, like my significant other, can make me do things, I never thought or wanted to do. And like my ELM, he makes me angrier than most. See, he's one of the few people I am willing to become angry with, and not pissed at. We have that level of vulnerability with one another. We also have a friendship that no one or thing can destroy. Again he makes me angry but he doesn't piss me off. We've disappointed each other, failed each other, been less than honest at times, but... alas we remain...

Steadfast.

So...

Yes. I become angry, disappointed, and at times hurt by his behavior. As I am sure he with me. Yet. We are human in our humanness. And while I don't see him as others do. I am afforded the luxury of seeing him the same way he sees me. As we truly are. Our perfections. And imperfections. Void of need and false pretenses.

And while I have Brooklyn, my beautiful circle, Pretty Tree, PIL and ELM.

I still have love for the beginning, the ones who fostered me, and brought me through. Before the pain and loss.

B. KA. Lovie. June. Hustle. Skinny Saraha.

And, yes, I remain appropriately focused and concerned with what impacts me and my life. Poetry is an important aspect of my life, the venue has grown under four very different yet magnificent hosts. It will continue to grow, no matter who is at the helm. There is a need for people to heal through written and spoken word.. and to (mis) quote another poet... it is our sanctuary, this place we call ____________________.

next wednesday. holla.