Yung Poets

Miro told the rest of Yungblood to go home on their own, he needed to try his luck with Hathor. He awkwardly hung around as he studied Hathor, looking at her converse with any random stranger who chose to gush about her singing voice. She was sweet, with her voice quiet and soothing. It calmed anyone who chose to listen. It was heaven on the ears. Miro felt weird about everything. How can somebody who he never even talked to yet can influence him in such a way? It was something about her. Better than any girl he saw in Polaski High. Better looking than anybody he laid his eyes on. He’s probably being hyperbolic, but that's the symptom of a young poet.

He started to overthink, as he usually does when put in a nervous situation. He did this earlier when he was on stage.

Bro. Just talk to her.

Nah! I can’t. What if she thinks I'm a lame?

What if…

Uh…

Something. Shit. Ok, let’s think about this. What could I say that won’t be wack?

‘Aye, shawty–’

Nah, nah. She’ll think I’m just tryna holler. Which is what I’m doing, but I can’t make that obvious.

“Excuse me…”

What about ‘Wassup, I loved how you…’ Nah. Too fanboy.

“Miro, right?”

The rapper snapped out of his trance to notice the girl he was trying to court was right in front of him, and speaking to him no less. It was basically those two left. Miro awkwardly laughed as he scrambled to say something, anything to save himself. “U-Uh, w-w-wassup??”

God, you suck.

Somehow, Hathor sensed how nervous he was. It was slightly comforting to see how bad he was at social interaction, concerning she was in the same boat. “Um, well the people want us out, but you seemed lost in thought, I’m sorry.”

Miro shook his head, attempting once again to salvage his lost ego. “I was uhh… Thinking, yeah. You wouldn’t mind if we walked together, yeah? I-If you wanna, of course!”

Hathor smiled softly. “Yeah. Why not?”

The duo headed out. Miro softly sighed as his rapper persona melted so easily as the girl talked to him. On the stage, he was Yung Miro. The mic killer, the man with the plan. The one everyone will remember. When the lights shut off, he’s just Dante Marks, the kid. The insecure one who gets his feelings hurt over a little scar. He shrugged it off, putting his hands over his twists and shaking them a bit. “So, that’s an interesting stage name,” he said, at least wanting to converse. He felt bad for making fun of it earlier, so he wanted to make up for it.

“Yeah, me too. But my real name is Imani. Is your real name Miro?”

He shook his head. “Dante. What made you wanna pick Hathor?”

Imani pondered as she pressed the elevator button to the first floor. “Well, I wanted something that is connected to my roots. My mom is Egyptian, and I thought she’d find it cool.”

“Did she?”

She smiled, huffing some air out. “Kinda?”

The two walk out into the warm summer evening in downtown Milwaukee. The buildings weren’t as tall as in New York or Chicago, but to the kids, It was always a marvel to see the hustle and bustle of the working class and other delinquents attempting to make trouble that evening.

“You take the bus?” Dante asked.

Imani nodded. “Yeah. I assume you do as well.”

“Mhm.” They walked along the cracked sidewalk, eventually stopping at the sign. They sat on the bench, watching the cars go by. “So, dope song. What inspired you?”

Imani slinked back in her chair, letting the guitar case rest on her lap. “Hm, good question. Well, Let’s just say I have a few personal problems, especially with relationships.”

“I feel that. The last shawty I was messing with really got me.”

“Oh?” Imani raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden relatability.

It was still a sore subject for Dante, but he really wanted to get with her so he trudged on with the story. “Ugh. It was bad. Like, she liked me, but she hated that I rapped. She was some chick from Racine. Her moms always had business trips so we hung out, but she hated my friends, hated how I dress, hell she even was talking shit about my hair, dawg. Wack as hell.”

Imani listened, studying how he told his story as well as hearing what happened. He told everything with passion, it was unapologetically him, and she could admire that. “Really? Did she ever have a reason why?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Thug?”

“Thug.”

They both busted out laughing, taking a few jabs at Dante’s ex with insults and jokes about her appearance. A strange bonding experience for the two. The bus finally pulled up. the two step into the bus as Dante continued his rant. “It’s just, like. Why not accept me for me, man? It’s hard enough fitting in.”

Imani nodded. “I get it. It’s never easy fitting in. Especially with the crowd you were in.”

“Well, I founded Yungblood. They my brothers, helped me out with the whole situation.”

The bus finally made its journey, taking the streets out of downtown. Imani remembered the crew he was with, they seemed nice enough, with what she saw on stage. “How so?”

“Well, I made a song about it. Y2 made the beat.”

“Y2?”

“Yung Yin. The chubby Chinese kid. He was beatboxing.”

“Ohh, I see. You have a cool crew, Dante. I like it.”

Dante’s face went hot. “I-I mean… You could say wassup sometime! Maybe I could… I could uh…”

Imani knew what he wanted. He seemed nice enough. Worst-case scenario she could ghost and move on. “My number?”

“Yeah! You a mind reader?”

“No, you’re just predictable.”

Dante chuckled. “Cut me some slack! I’m trying.”

“Well, you’re doing fine so far.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and gave it to Dante. He quickly typed the number and handed it back to her.

The contact said ‘Yung Miro >;)’

“Really? Emoticons?” She questioned.

“I felt retro.”

She giggled as the bus made its next stop. “This my stop.” Imani got up, guitar case in hand. “I’ll text you soon, Miro.” She said the last part with a teasing edge that Dante’s round lips into a wide smile.

This smile consisted until he got off the bus. As he walked through his neighborhood, his phone vibrated. It was just a number.