Bout to set off some first draft Odes. Big Ups to my homie Samantha Thornhill


Ode to my Brooklyn fitted.

Brown like me – straight brimmed, you signal all my people. You, aggressive white cursive against the crown – Brooklyn. You cock smooth to the side over left eye; shadow like the borough – Brooklyn; shadow like how we run through streets. We could call you, cap – but every b-boy knows, you more than that; and when I say Brooklyn, brown, fitted, 7 5/8, the whole store knows that what I’m saying is – I stay Brooklyn, I won’t take no shit – Brooklyn; Biggie Smalls, represent, beef patties, I fucks with Original Ray’s – Brooklyn; Coney Island, 9mm, A-Train – Brooklyn. You mean to say fist, Flatbush and gentrify – Brooklyn. You keep me fresh, clean, head-nod and Sun – Brooklyn. You fitted, are so Brooklyn, I rock you wherever I know you live – so you, Brooklyn, answer to where you stay at, with Oakland, Alaska, L.A. and Chicago’s South Side. With you, I know where I belong, that I am loved. You keep it real in Logan Square, speak low to women in D.C. and Seattle. You preach the gospel in North Carolina. You bold-faced, swag, bop-walked; so I can be brown, hip-hop, beautiful, Brooklyn, bullet-proof.