The Shadow That Carried My Name

The Shadow That Carried My Name

A descent into the myth, the weight, the haunting song of old....

The shadow that carried my name

didn’t follow me;

it claimed me,

rising from the ground like smoke

from the fire I never lit

but still burned for.

It walked ahead,

a dark ancestor,

a shape carved from every man

who bled so I could breathe.

Its spine was made of old stories,

its hands of unfinished prayers,

its face a blur of everything

I tried not to become.

At night it grew taller,

stretching past the tree line,

dragging the moon down

just to see me clearer.

It whispered in a voice

older than my blood,

a voice that knew

what I feared,

what I hid,

what I inherited.

I tried to outrun it once,

but the earth itself

tilted toward its steps,

When the Night Learns Your Name

When the night learns your name,

it doesn’t whisper it soft,

it drags the syllables slow,

like a thumb across a bruise

you stopped admitting still hurts.

It comes wearing the scent

of old rain and old memory,

sits beside you like a brother

who knows too much

and won’t let you lie tonight.

It asks nothing.

Just waits.

Let’s the dark do the talking.

Suddenly the quiet

is full of every road walked barefoot,

every promise buried,

every ache folded into your chest

like a secret hymn.

When the night learns your name,

it calls you home

to the parts of yourself

you keep locked behind your ribs,

the tender ones,

the trembling ones,

the ones that still believe in morning.

And you answer,

not with words,

but...

Pour the Water, SIP the Wine

Pour the water to wash away the weight of yesterday’s dust.

Sip the wine to honor the fire still burning in my chest.

I am learning that healing is a rhythm

a rinse, a rise, a taste of sweetness after the bitter has passed.

Stand Down

Stand down.

Not because I am fragile, but because I am finished shrinking to make room for someone else’s thunder.

I’ve held my tongue, folded my fire, softened my edges for far too long.

But today, I rise unarmored and unafraid.

Stand down— for your own peace, not mine.

Slow-Burning

I lay beside the anger like a fire that won’t die down, embers whispering what the flames were too loud to say.

It warms and wounds in the same breath, curling around my ribs like smoke that refuses to rise.

But morning always comes, soft as a hand on my back, and I decide again whether to feed the fire or finally let it cool.

Brick by Brick

Brick by brick,

the wall I built

to survive what hurt me.

Every piece I lift away

lets in one more breath,

one more truth,

one more version of myself

that isn’t hiding anymore.

Brick by brick,

I tear down the fortress

I once mistook for safety.

My hands are dusty,

my heart is loud,

and every crumble

is a victory.

I’m not afraid

of what stands behind the wall—

I’m afraid of staying trapped

inside it.

Removing brick by brick was

the weight I carried

for far too long.

Some walls fall loudly,

mine falls in whispers—

a gentle undoing,

a quiet return,

to who I was before the heaviness.

Turn Your Back

Turn your back— not in anger, but in arrival. Some roads don’t deserve your footsteps anymore, and walking away is the loudest truth you’ll ever speak.

Bending Not to Break

Like a branch shaped by seasons, I curve with the weather of my life— sun?warmed, storm?tested, softened at the edges by time.

I don’t stand rigid against the world; I move with it, letting each challenge carve a gentler strength.

This is how I endure— not by resisting, but by bending just enough.

If Brothers Could Sing the Blues

If brothers could sing the blues,

their voices would rise like smoke at dawn—

soft at first, then aching, curling around the truth they never learned to name.

   They’d hum the weight of promises broken,

the echo of footsteps leaving, the quiet battles 

fought behind steady eyes.

And in that song,

you’d hear the strength it takes

to carry a world that never learned

how to carry them.

If brothers could sing the blues,

the sound would be river?deep—

a slow current of memory,

a tide of grit and grace.

Their notes would fall like worn stones,

polished by years of holding too much.

A harmony carved from struggle,

but warm as a hand on your shoulder

when the night gets long.

A song, rooted, raw, the beat would hit hard—

bass like a heartbeat, ly...

Air in My Blues

I felt the weight lifting, a shift in the air,

Like color returning where shadows once lived.

A fracture of brightness, a fearless debut —

Hope stepping forward in a shade I once hid.

 Call it a comeback, a spark, or a truce —

But something inside me

Put Air in my blues.