Dried DJ Bones

I couldn’t believe this DJ had the audacity to attempt embarrassing me. As a DJ he should’ve known to not point out a female MC’s belly in front of the crowd, but he did... right there in that moment on stage... smack in the middle of Black History Month. Yes, I participated in the Mad Fantastic the previous summer, so pregnancy was a reasonable assumption but there’s no shame in my game so I was like...

Oh, these food babies are actually my twins, Basmati Rice and Chardonnay Garlic. They are from eating too many poets at the community center, politicians at town hall meetings, emcees at the open mics on weekends, holidays and even debate students on days I called in sick.

I can’t help it... I have an insatiable appetite for writers. I eat lyricists for breakfast, flash fiction writers for lunch, composers for afternoon snacks, novelists for dinner, reporters sometimes for dessert but always Hip Hop critics whenever I have the munchies in the middle of the night.

My refrigerator is packed with professors on the shelves, journalists in the front door water dispenser and ethnographers in the crisper drawers. I keep orators in plastic bags, spoken word artists in aluminum foil and raw rappers on ice in my freezer. I sweep crumbs of motivational speakers off my pillowcase when I don’t feel like getting out of bed. So yeah, you best believe there are even dried DJ bones under my bed as well.

M.C. MoHagani Magnetek

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