Hood Boo
by Raederle Phoenix
2005: Junior Year
by Raederle Phoenix
2005: Junior Year
Note: This poem is written in this style for effect, and is designed to capture an essence of a life that existed at the time it was written, which was when I was a teenager. More notes at the end.
wasting my time, on a dick boo;
he’s sellin’ those great dimes, and nics too;
chewing on sweet lime, and licking the dew;
hearing through the grape-vine, about weed inna bic, true.
he don’t know how it hurts inside, when it all falls through;
he don’t even confide, in his crew;
he don’t ever lie, but he’s never all true;
he’ll make you cry, and make it up to you.
he makes it so I can’t concentrate.
we quake and always debate.
he always making me wait
on the only way I sedate.
he want me to spit, and not read what I writ,
I want ‘em to slip, and dig outta a crypt,
sayin’ I’m not fit with no right knit,
he tells me to shut up and sit.
he talks about big clips, and eating me up,
he lickin’ my sweet ‘lit, and eating it up.
he thinks he’s all that, and a bag of chips,
he calls me hypocrite, while hugging my hips.
he makes it so I can’t concentrate.
with myself I always debate.
he always coming home late,
but he’s the only way I can sedate.
spending my time, on this trick,
he sellin’ the great dime, and a nic,
eating this sour lime, for a lick,
he buying me sweet wine, and making me tick.
awake, I can’t concentrate.
please take away my debate
about whether it’s too late.
but he’s the only way I can sedate.
he don’t know...
he don’t know...
he don’t know...
but look a little closer,
you will see,
he’s not a poser,
and he loves me.
— Raederle Phoenix
2005
© 2005-2025 Raederle Phoenix West. Some Rights Reserved.
This poem is the original work of Raederle Phoenix West.
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Notes:
In 2025 I have edited some of the punctuation, changed the title to Hood Boo rather than Hood Relations (which is clearly a better thematic fit), and a few words to help the rhythm flow a little better; but it is mostly unaltered from the original 2005 version written when I was sixteen.
It was inspired by my relationship with my second love, especially the particulars like hiding weed in a pen (bic), and his penchant for half-truths (never all true). I believe it was actually an acquaintance rather than the boyfriend pressuring me to learn to freestyle (spit) rather than writing/reading my (writ) poetry.
This poem was intended to capture more than my own experience, however, and to be more broadly about other girls in my cohort who were in similar relationships which were full of turbulence – yet also intimacy and deep affection.