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The garden
He walks the garden every morning, barefoot, dew-soaked soles pressing into the memory of her. The sun is lazy here, like it, too, remembers her warmth and doesn’t dare outshine it. Petals blush when he passes, but none dare bloom the way she did—wild, defiant, radiant. She was the flame-tipped marigold that danced between the…
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“DIRT DON’T LIE”
Yo— I don’t talk to God, I just plant and wait, Hands in the mud while the pain translates. Trauma been root-deep, blood in the seed, But the garden don’t judge when I come to bleed. Pulled up weeds like I’m yankin’ out memories, Tears hit soil, now the dirt be a remedy. Every leaf’s…
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Chicago, You Have My Heart
you don’t have my heart like a postcard or a poem.You got it like a scar—earned, aching, unforgettable. Not with chocolate box softness,but with grease-stained fingers and Jordan 1s on cracked concrete,with trains that sing lullabies in metal and motion. You are rhythm and rupture.A pulse in every pothole,a bassline in every boarded window,a sanctuary…
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some things broken are too holy to throw away
I loved you like a language I never learned to speak, but still carved into my bones every time I said your name. I loved you with rebellion in my blood— a kind of love that burns its own borders and writes manifestos on the backs of receipts left on your nightstand. You were the…