The world is getting less fine, I think. I can’t quite calculate the current amount of fineness and compare it to the amount of fineness of the eras past, but something happened. Men ain’t fine no more. They all look dusty. They don’t even smell good. Back in the day, men would smell like decisions you knew DAMN well you shouldn’t make and you just made em’ anyway. I miss those days. Fine ass boys, fresh ass haircuts, licking their lips between their sentences. Moisturizing the lies they tell.
Boys looked you in your damn eyes. Fine boys KNEW they were fine, and would just be fine in your face just because they could. It’s a rule of being fine. When you’re fine, you can linger around, waste a little bit of my time. I’m all for it. Now boys got social anxiety and shit. They get all shaky instead of just having a straight forward conversation. They want your number so that they can text you all damn day.
they wanna “what chu up to?” you to death.
My favorite part of being young was watching fine men wash their cars on Saturday morning, playing R&B music so loud, you’d think they were trying to turn the whole block into sex. If memory serves me right, they did it all shirtless, wearing only loose basketball shorts, with their tight muscles and tattoos of things god ain’t never said, ever.
It was wonderful.
Imagine my damn disappointment when I got to adulthood only to find out most of those men either died or went to prison, and in their places were corny ass dudes who listen to mumble rap and argue about dumb shit in the comment section of youtube videos.
I miss fine boys. I need fine boys. I didn’t envision I would spend my life with any of these fine boys – that’s not what fine boys are for. The only folks who try to turn a fine boy into a good man were sad women who learned to become close friends with own misery.
Fine boys just made you feel good. With just a linger in their stare they could make you feel alive. A flash of a pearly white smile on deep brown skin could make you think all is right in the wild world. The flexing of dark chocolate pecs as they soap up the exteriors of their usually Dodge Chargers wasn’t just a weekly routine, but a meditative art.
I am not capable of solving every problem in this world, but I think we would see a few of those problems solve themselves if fine ass men would come back again.