Dear Santa, . . .

Dear Santa,

I don’t want much for Christmas this year. Matter fact I don’t want anything palpable. All I want is wisdom and her. My intention was to use my money I was going to get to buy a few books: Stolen Legacy (Khalfani put me on), Up from Slavery, Souls of Black Folks, and Open Mike. However if I could find wisdom in her Id have everything I need. See Santa this girl is vocalist; for her voice gives me inverted acupunctured. It seems as if my Goosebumps are attempting to grasp her to bring her closer to me. This girl is a poet; for her wordplay is ridiculous. Never have I met a girl who could convey her creativity inside the linguistic penitentiary. The English language has so many rules that it’s hard to abide by them and still say what your hearts is screaming to the world. This girl is a model; for her beauty is unmatched. Her dark complexion radiates like the sun and my eyes are constantly orbiting around her presence; Santa this girl is the center of my universe. Her smile brings light to my day. Her hair blows me away; for my love is natural!! She no longer compares herself to the imagery that the American standards has proposed but she is confirmed. She shows confirmation that she is consistent and intransigent with who she is and who ought to be. Did I mention her body Santa? . . . She doesn’t have a bangin butt or brobdingnagian boobs but she has form. Form enough for me to me match. Just enough for me to hold but more than enough for me to appreciate.

Santa. . . All I want for Christmas is to cuddle with Lauryn Hill.