Posted inwords and shit

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…
Posted inwords and shit

“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…
Posted inwords and shit

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…