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About a month ago, I took a 12 hour bus ride to
New York City. (yeah, I’m bragging)
Here are the highlights:

Sitting on a park bench in Union Square eating
granola and yogurt for breakfast
NYC pedicure
NYC napping
Meeting European boys in the NYC hostel
Making friends while in line for the Nuyorican Poetry Cafe (making really good friends, actually)
Telling strangers who look familiar that I’m from Canada
Telling strangers who look like pedophiles that I’m from Sunnyside, Queens
Not getting on stage at the Nuyorican Cafe
Hosting an impromptu poetry slam with my new besties outside the Nuyorican Cafe
Letting anyone walking by stop and stare… Claiming we would have blown the roof off had we stepped on stage at that damned Nuyorican Cafe (1am Ego boost)
NYC pizza
NYC *puff, puff, pass*
Becoming NYC immigrants, migrating from bar to bar
Meeting new people
Drinking old drinks
Feeling like rockstars at a sold out show
Singing “All Falls Down” with a large, older black gentleman – better than Syleena Johnson and Lauryn Hill combined (he had a breathtaking voice despite his “all too affectionate” personality)

Spending the rest of the night on a rooftop in Brooklyn,
watching the city’s skyline wake up and the bubbling
orange ball of juicy particles we call the sun, rise.

(here’s when I get inspired to write)

Oh how the city twinkles brighter than the sky!
I saw stars in Brooklyn
Beyond the bridge
It was only 432am when I remembered where I been
Sitting next to (what’re their names again?)
I smoke the second cigarette of my life
This city gives me good love
Kind of love a grandma gives
The moment you step into her house…

***

I head home in last night’s clothes
Take the F Train back to the East Village
And when I stroll back in at 647am
The lady at the reception of my hostel looks at me
Like I had discovered something she been looking for herself
in the city she can’t quite call home

I sleep the morning away and wake up past noon
Talk to the hostel boys and make plans for the night
I go shopping. Buy new clothes and souvenirs
Eat a club sandwich for dinner at a Bbar with sparkling water
Put on something cute (from my new NYC collection)
Walk to the next poetry spot
Meet the host, the inventor, and the King
Introduce myself as someone worth listening
To; Also
Meet this older dude with glasses who likes to write “educational” poetry
He goes on and on and on and on and on and…
Nothing like Ms. Badu
He had Bad-unison in his sentences
Says he only writes in syllables of 10 or less
Figured he could impress
Me
But I might just copyright infringe that shit and put my name next to it
-sorry, Mordy
(Thank you for words)

Who’s next to hit the stage?

“All the way from Toronto, Canada, please help me welcome
…Miss Britta B.”

I tip-toe to the stage and
Spit a poem ’bout how I lost my virginity
Onto the city that never sleeps
I consider the irony as
The crowd flattens they hands together

Finally!
New York City gets taste of my curse.

Britta B.

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2 Comments

  1. Thanks for sharing your new york city trip.

    well done poetry.

  2. I have been there for two times,
    busy and cool, smooth sailing.

    Happy August.

    share random poems with us today.
    🙂


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