My blessing don’t stop at just you.
You were a chapter.
But I?
I’m the author.
You tried to tear the page,
rip me out like an unfinished draft,
but baby, I bleed through margins.
I ghost the air between your breaths.
I’m the hush in your silence,
the pause in your pride,
the lyric you hum
but can’t place why it hits so hard.

You can bury memories,
but you can’t **** presence.
And my presence?
It’s rooted in heaven
and hood-certified.
I walk like prayers unanswered
still found a way to bloom.
I move like moonlight on broken glass
beautiful, sharp,
and meant to reflect
what you lost trying to forget.

You ever seen a universe
unfold from a woman’s spine?
I stretch galaxies when I stretch my truth.
Every sway of my hips
pulls tides.
Every blink
reminds the cosmos
that even stars get heartbroken
and still shine.

You thought I was just a blessing
with your name on it
but I was legacy,
timeless remedy,
a whispered prophecy
you couldn’t decode
’cause you were busy playing pretend
with a love you hadn’t earned.

I’m still me.
Even when you turn away,
my light ricochets off mirrors,
off moments,
off memories you didn’t mean to keep.
You can’t delete divine.
You can’t unfeel fate.
So don’t be shocked
when the wind hums my name
and your chest gets tight
outta nowhere.

That’s just me
unraveling
like I always do,
in awe,
in stride,
in truth,
in you.