Dear Hip-hop,

How can I attempt to illuminate and help the world see
What it is that you mean to me?
It seems to me to be
An impossibility,
And yet if there’s any art that’s key
To settin’ the truth free,
It’s this rap game, this word wizardry.

So let me speak clearly–

As you tend to do
Let me paint a picture large enough to show ‘em all what’s true–
‘Bout every last facet of wonderful you.
Your good and your bad both deserve attention,
Here’s me tryin’ to hold them together in beautiful tension.

At 13, you made me feel alive- bumpin’ 50 Cent’s beats and bars while hustlin’ morning newspapers to my middle-class suburban neighborhood. Now, don’t get it twisted, you already know that I was never a gangsta. I grew up in a university town with university parents, chillin’ pretty near the top of ole Maslow’s hierarchy.

I didn’t know gang violence, profound poverty, or the proliferation of drugs. So, why did I, a nerdy, goodie-two-shoes kid fall so hard for you? Why did I risk my parent’s wrath, computer viruses, and legal trouble downloading your tracks off LimeWire? Stealing verses from 50 Cent, Eminem, 2Pac, and Luda? (Hopefully the statute of limitations comes in clutch to save me from this confession of my crimes and hopefully those rap masters forgive me for accessing their art in an illicit manner).

I’ve turned that question over for years. The answer is unfinished, but that’s what makes you powerful- you don’t demand neat explanations. What makes our love beautiful is that it doesn’t have to explain itself; it doesn’t need argumentation and logic to prove its worth; it doesn’t have to be classified or codified; it can just be appreciated for how it feels.

And hip-hop, you make me feel. All the feels- not just the positive ones of inspiration, hype, and connection. Also, discomfort, tension and contradiction.

Because yeah, you’re problematic-misogyny, glorification of violence, hatred, and division to name a few sticky spots. My parents would have clutched their pearls if they knew what lyrics you planted in my young mind. And yet, your tempestuous tracks gave me something real- a voice. A pulse. A reason to listen deeper. A reason to write.

So, when I found myself stumped, stuck in my job, feeling like another cog in the machine, I brought you into my classroom. Not just for the sweet beats, but as a blueprint. For fun, for connection, for opening minds a little wider. And in so doing, you changed me. You changed my students. You taught us how words can build bridges, how they can tear down walls, how they can transform just another boring day into something magical.

One student, quiet as a whisper, came alive as I rapped about the Holocaust, offering to make a music video for the track. A young lady who never saw herself in the pages of a book saw herself in your hard-hitting lines. You helped her to write and write and write- who she is, what she’s seen, and what she dreams of. You taught these students—and me—that resilience isn’t just about survival. It’s about remixing what we’re given- flipping the beat, finding the flow, and making something new.

While there is enough to this love story of ours to fill a whole book, I’d better sign off here. And what better way to do so than with more bars from and about the heart of it all?

Hip-hop’s a nifty tool,
Picked it up, thought it was cool,
I was lost, it’s what I found.
Now, my heart’s no longer bound.
Now, I always keep it poppin’,
Not a second saved for stoppin’
When a tasty beat gets droppin’,
I’ll be set to rock, always ready to resume.
I’ll be makin’ lines from now until I reach the tomb.
You gave me rhythm and a name,
Framed my world and changed my game.
It’s a confounding mystery, something that no words can describe.
The way these words wield powers, the way they build a tribe.
Our words are our strength,
And they go to any length,
To keep fuelin’ up our tank,
So words, it’s you I thank,
And all the masters of the game.
Thanks to you, my life has never been the same.
I will continue to use you, spinnin’ hope out of despair,
Thanks for fillin’ my cup and my classroom, breathin’ your magic in the air.