My dear, It’s a trap! It’s a trap! Keep the curious eyes. Keep the soft hands, the easy laughter, and the open pain. Don’t fall to this trap and lose it all. Falsely yours, A....

My dear, And most things outside of creation are, in fact, a destruction. A crumbling of sorts; of souls, and minds, and things alike. Some say the pen is mightier, I say it is speaker, and poet, and screamer. I say it is louder. Falsely yours, Andrea...

My dear, Hip-hop is not a fad, or a trend. In fact, it’s not even a religion, or a lifestyle. Hip-hop is a life. It’s a way of walking, of talking.. of breathing. If hip-hop dies and you’re still around, don’t claim it, only those who go with it deserve it. As I said, Hip-Hop is a life. Falsely yours, A....

My dear, It makes a man stand taller in the fields. It makes him hold his gaze longer. It makes a thinker of him, and it makes him question. Knowledge is a rebel maker. Falsely yours, Frederick...

My dear, But don’t lose your wits over that, everyone fails, even you. What you’ve got to do is step up to the plate so many times that the odds eventually make you the last one standing, and a success. It is not enough to succeed, others must fail and give up before you do. Afterall, the people who succeed the most also fail the most, they just don’t let their failures be the ending to their stories. Falsely yours, Gore...

My dear, Loving science and not hiding it is style. Having your own opinion and not changing it for the majority is style. Being gay and not flaunting it is style. Being your child’s friend and parent at the same time is style. Ignoring the critics is style. Being dedicated is style. Prioritizing is style. Style is… style is.. you, at your coolest. Falsely yours, Gore...

My dear, We are the aliens we fear. We are that which no longer knows Earth; we no longer walk it barefoot, we no longer feel its rain, and we no longer feel its blowing kiss of a wind. We are the hard consonants in a sea of soft vowels. We are the sudden spurt of bone chilling water in a warm shower. We are egg shell that’s dropped in the omelet that surprises when chewed. We are one second too soon, a sound too loud, a kiss too...

My dear, Carry it in your mouth. Let it drop every time you speak. Let the sharpness travel the path of gravity, and let it leave none of its being behind. And if you must, for somehow you always must, pick it up again.. carry it in your mouth, and let it drop again. Falsely yours, Derrick C....

My dear, I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. Of course I’ll remind you of this every day. It’s not like I hate you or anything, but how am I supposed to know you deserve the best in people, and in life, if you can’t handle the worst in any situation while patiently waiting for the best, for what you deserve, through it all? Falsely...

My dear, What I mean is I don’t want you to see me running on red, always in green. What I mean is that I am mortal, I run on finite, but I will never let you know that; to you I want to remain infinite; improbable, incomprehensible, in a good way. Falsely yours, Buddy...