More Letters from the Attic: Lost Love Letters

“But could youth last, and love still breed,/ had joys no date, nor age no need,/ then these delights my mind might move/to live with thee, and be thy love.” –excerpt from “The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd”

Dear Love,

Will you be my rida? Cause I want to be your down ass for whatever nigga.
It cannot be said enough that the intangibles we share are not up for sale
and will not be negotiated like the terms of a business contract. We started off
with grams of interest but end with kilos of endearment; that is love from a
hustler’s standpoint. So, please, if you don’t mind, share this misunderstood
life with me as we conquer the ghetto dream of this hood love.

the Mysterious Poet Dude

Dear Mysterious,

I read your words and then I read them again.
I read them so much they became ingrained
on my heart. Thoughts, once elusive, began to rain
and I knew I had to reach out now, or I’d miss
the opportunity to express them again.

My first thought was this: If only I had a dime
for every time I’ve wanted to offer a penny
for your thoughts so I could read your mind
to see if you are still truly mine or if you’re just
biding your time, trying to find the right words
to tell me you can never be mine. Not fully.

But I’ll address the question you asked me:
I’ve always been your day one rider, slid right in beside you,
the day our eyes met and I knew I had to have you, cuz I felt
the world within me shift. I knew right then and there
I’d always be the one to keep the scales balanced,
matching your love kilo for kilo and pound for pound, and that gram of
interest that was planted the day I met you, it grew
like I knew it would, transforming into full-fledged
desire to be with you But we both know time stops for
no one and while I’m still your rider, my ride or die I have to ask
where are you? I’ve got your back and on that you can always
depend. So, yes, I’ll be your rider and your rida.

In the height of our existence as one, I felt you as my strength
while I desired nothing more than to be your wisdom;
I crossed the bridge we constructed with our words
and I’ve been standing there waiting
for you to cross the bridge too. Everybody knows that in the ghetto
if you find true love, you better hold on cause the ghetto
is a man-eat-man world. And no one, I mean no one,
wants to get caught trying to fight, alone.

So, if you’re still wondering if I’ll ride for you
Well, let me ask you, is it not true
that if you need an ear, I offer two, and
if you need a hand to hold, I offer those too,
if you need a shoulder on which to lean, I
give those too; there’s nothing I withhold from you.
When you need my love to hold you down,
I climb on top and hold onto your crown
so it won’t slip as we fight in these streets, and
you’ll remember you’re a King and I’m your Queen,
and we’re still trying to maintain a love that others take offense to,
even though they see the fruit and wish they could
enjoy the sweet nectar that our fruit brings. In their eyes
we see them realize that what we have is true and that’s why
we have to keep fighting to hold onto each other.
We both know that our shared vision is
unshakeable, it’s true, but it depends on two people
riding for two. That means you’ll be down for me
like you know I’m down for you. When you look back
over your shoulder, you’ll see I’ll always be there.
And that’s one promise you never have to ask if it’s true.


Dear Love,

Retract the thought of a love lost and embrace the thought
of a love forever. The succor of a meal that doesn’t have to
be forced on the receiver.

Sit before a plate that will always be full, and, you, the satiated patron
will keep seeking more, knowing that ours is a plate that remains full
of the love we have for each other. Always be full of the respect we
have for one another. And always be full of the value you place on
one another.

We can continue to cruise the wide open space, hoping for a street
light to appear or we can realize we don’t need a light to let us know
it’s safe to fall in love, which we’ve already done. So, when we see the freeway
to our evolution appear, we know the fuel of our eternal transportation will
never disappear. We’ll never be sitting on empty because the fuel is unceasing
like our love for each other: there is no end.

the Mysterious Poet Dude

Peace & Love,



About Rosalind Guy

I'm broken & my soul is weary/ my weary soul rebels, fights/ anything & anyone who tries to heal me/I beat my head against a wall of memories/ trying hard to break free from the chain of memories/ I can only be free by saying it so/ i weave a necklace from words and finally/ I find freedom/ free free free. As you can see, words are powerful to me. As Maya Angelou said, words are wallpaper of the soul. I have lots of nightmarish memories that threaten to break me, but I learned a long time ago about the power of words. They can be used to heal and destroy anything that threatens to destroy the person. Words coupled with love have the power to save and heal. I am author of three books: Skinny Dipping in the Pool of Womanhood, Tattered Butterfly Wings, and Blues of a Love Junkie. I am a high school English teacher. I am a former reporter. I am a mother. I am a woman. I am a fierce advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, those who's voices go unheard. Check out my Amazon author page at the following link:
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