Kings & Kweens Story Time
"Missed the Mark"
Man, let me tell you about my boy, Jamal. Dude was solid, ya know? Built like a linebacker, always had his head on straight, worked hard at the fulfillment warehouse, and never played games. But when it came to love, Jamal? Whew. Dude fumbled the bag hard, and I ain’t even gon’ lie—it hurt to watch.
See, Jamal had this thing about being “the man,” about matching masculine on masculine while complaining about there not being any top dudes. Always talking about how he ain’t need nobody to take care of him, how he could hold his own, how he wasn’t no soft dude. And don’t get me wrong, respect to that. But sometimes, bro, you gotta read the room. And Jamal? He couldn’t read a room if it had neon signs flashing in his face.
Enter Malik. Now Malik? Malik was that dude. Tall, dark, confident, but not in that loud, obnoxious way. Nah, Malik was smooth. The kind of dude who could walk into a room, and you just felt his energy. He was masculine, no doubt, but he had this way about him that made you feel safe, like he could handle whatever came his way. And Jamal? Jamal was smitten from jump. But here’s the thing—Malik wasn’t looking for another “man’s man.” Nah, he was looking for someone soft, someone sweet, someone who could balance him out. A "male queen," as he put it.
The first time Jamal missed the hint, we was all at a cookout. Malik was holding court, talking about what he wanted in a partner. “I need somebody who can match my energy,” he said, “but not in the same way. I’m the protector, the provider. I need somebody who can be my peace, my soft place to land.” Jamal, sitting there with his chest puffed out, nodded like he understood. But then he goes, “Yeah, I feel you. That’s why I keep my grind tight. Ain’t nobody gonna outwork me.” Malik just looked at him, kinda tilted his head, and said, “Nah, bro, it’s not about that. It’s about balance. You feel me?” Jamal didn’t feel him. Not even a little bit.
The second time? Man, it was at the barbershop. Malik was getting his fade, and Jamal was in the chair next to him, talking about how he’d been hitting the gym harder, trying to bulk up. Malik chuckled and said, “You know, strength ain’t always about muscles. Sometimes it’s about being vulnerable, letting somebody take care of you for a change.” Jamal just laughed it off, like, “Nah, I’m good. I don’t need nobody taking care of me.” Malik waited till they were outside and away from the barbershop to try that convo again, but Jamal kept manning up. Malik shook his head, almost like he was disappointed, but Jamal didn’t even notice.
Fast forward a few months, and Malik's already been spending less time with Jamal but now he drops the bomb: he’s moving to Phoenix for a new job. Jamal’s crushed, but he still ain’t getting it. He pulls Malik aside, like, “Man, I thought we had something. Why you leaving?” Malik looks at him, real serious, and says, “Jamal, you a good dude. But you ain’t what I’m looking for. I need somebody soft, somebody sweet. Somebody who ain’t afraid to let me be the man. You out here trying to match me, and that’s not what I need.”
Jamal just stood there, stunned. By the time he realized what Malik had been trying to say, it was too late. Malik was leaving, and Jamal was left kicking himself, wondering why he didn’t see it sooner. Sometimes, man, you gotta stop trying to be what you think people want and just be yourself. ‘Cause the right person? They’ll love you for who you are, not who you’re pretending to be. And Jamal? He learned that lesson the hard way.