Driving to work felt quite boujee.
Just two days of work and then I'm free.
Traffic sounding like a symphony,
Your words turned routine into poetry.

Across the digital divide we meet,
Strangers connected by rhythm and beat.
In this virtual space, our souls converse,
Bound by the magic of metered verse.

Imagining a schoolbus, dogs galore,
A whimsical scene that makes the heart soar.
Like your poem, it brings a smile, a laugh,
A reminder that joy is the true path.

I say to you, with gratitude deep,
For the solace your words allow me to keep.
In poetry we trust, in verses we blend,
Stranger no more, but a poetic friend.

o, darling
daylight has never been your most flattering
light

and how could it be?
you never sleep,
because life is but a dream

like that old
children's song
goes

dear god of boujee
women, the ones with
bloodstained louboutins

let me autotune myself to sound inhuman,
say my prayers to
you

in the dying light
of the atl
freeways

my only hymn i have to
offer is that of
migos

and instead of bread and wine
i have lean and
xanax

o, darling
our eyes will never
age

and new money, who dis?
will forever be the closest thing
we have to a mantra