I'm the Type

I’m the type of guy that wants to live life,
Not just in one place, not confined,
But out there, moving, always on the run,
Like a river flowing through lands unknown,
From hotel to hotel,
Where the sheets change with every dawn
And the view from the window shifts
Like a painter’s brush.

I’m the type of guy who craves the world,
The pulse of each city,
The hum of its streets in different tongues,
The way a café in Paris hums soft
While the markets in Lagos sing loud.
I want to taste it all,
To breathe the air of each country,
To feel the weight of a thousand skies above me,
Stretching out into infinity.

I’m not one for staying still—
Home isn’t where the heart is,
Home is where the next adventure starts.
Wherever I lay my head tonight,
That’s where the stories begin,
Whether it’s in a bustling city
Or a quiet town with streets like whispers.

I’m the type who dresses sharp,
Three-piece suits,
Clean lines, tailored fits,
Custom-made hats with brims that speak
Of a style both timeless and mine.
There’s something about walking through the world
Looking like you own every step,
Like each stride is a note in a smooth jazz tune,
A rhythm that no one else can catch.

But I’m also the type that knows
When to strip it down,
When casual calls for ease,
When a plain white tee
And sneakers feel like freedom
In a world that’s always dressed up.
Because comfort is key,
And sometimes, simplicity says more
Than anything too loud or sharp.

You’ll find me in jazz lounges,
Low lights and live bands,
A glass of wine in hand,
Sipping slow, feeling the music
Wrap around me like an old friend.
The notes rise, fall,
Like stories without words,
And I just sit back,
Letting the sound of the saxophone
Speak the language my soul already knows.

Sunday mornings, though—
That’s for vegan griddle pancakes,
Golden with maple syrup,
Warm like a memory,
Sweet like the start of something good.
It’s a ritual, a pause in the motion,
A slow savor of life
Before the world picks up speed again.

I’m the type of guy who loves black women
In their natural state—
No pretense, no filter,
Just the beauty of who they are,
Their hair, their skin,
Whatever shade it comes in,
Doesn’t matter to me.
What I care about is the soul behind the eyes,
The intelligence that shines in their words,
The way they think deep,
Uncomplicated but rich with meaning.
I want a woman who’s down-to-earth,
Who isn’t caught up in the glitter,
Who knows her worth without needing to shout it.
High maintenance isn’t my thing—
Give me someone real, someone rare,
Someone whose beauty is born
Of a mind that isn’t afraid to wander.

At night, I like to watch the stars,
To look up and feel small
In a universe that’s too vast to comprehend.
The moon, hanging like a secret,
I’ll gaze at it for hours,
Letting my thoughts drift with the constellations.
Sometimes, I’ll even howl,
Just to feel wild,
Like there’s something ancient in me
That’s connected to the night,
To the wolf that lives in my chest,
To the pull of the moon
On the tides of my soul.

When boredom strikes,
I feed the birds,
Scatter crumbs and watch them peck,
Each one a little piece of freedom,
A reminder that life is simple
If you let it be.
There’s beauty in the small things,
In the quiet moments
Where nothing grand happens,
But everything feels right.

I’m the type who values poetry,
Who gets lost in the lines of a verse,
In the way words twist and turn,
Bringing life to something deeper.
Literature and art—
They’re not just hobbies,
They’re reflections of the soul,
Windows into other lives,
Other times,
Other places where we find pieces of ourselves.

I love souls that are kind,
That give without thinking,
That carry the weight of the world
And still smile.
I help the less fortunate,
Not because I have to,
But because I want to.
There’s something about reaching out,
About giving to those
Who’ve been forgotten by the rest,
That feels like the right thing to do—
A connection to something greater than myself.

My soul is rare.
Hard to find in a world
That’s always rushing,
Always looking past the quiet ones,
The ones who move to a different beat,
Who think in metaphors and dream in poetry.
I’m the type you might overlook
If you’re only searching for the loud,
But once you know me,
You’ll understand—
I’m the type of guy who lingers,
Who leaves a mark
Not with noise,
But with the way I carry the silence.