Your Inner Child is Waiting. This Book Holds the Key. Have you ever felt the weight of your past, the echoes of childhood trauma, still clinging to your spirit? For those who grew up navigating the concrete jungle, where "Where the Wind Hits Harder Than Fists" and "Raised By Sirens" were daily realities, "What Don't Kill Me I Write About" offers a profound journey of recognition and healing.
This isn't just poetry; it's an experience. As one reader powerfully shared, "I'm writing this from my downtown rooftop, looking out at the same skyline that used to mock me from the Rockwell projects. Made it out, made it big. But reading this collection brought me right back to when survival wasn't guaranteed and poetry was the only therapy I could afford."
This book understands the unspoken. It knows that "We ain't play tag we played dead and survived it"—a chilling reminder of how we sometimes had to play dead to our emotions, just to make it through. It validates your journey, from the corner store clergy to the resilience that blossomed despite it all.
For Black trauma healing, for nurturing that inner child who deserved more, these poems are a lifeline. They carry the spirit of Common, Jay-Z, and Gwendolyn Brooks, infused with a voice that feels like home. You'll find yourself in lines like, "My Demons Don't Scare Easy, But Neither Do I" and feel a deep resonance with the themes of growth and survival.
This collection is surgical in its honesty and scope. It's the complexity of Kendrick, the street philosophy of Nipsey, and the transformative power of Maya Angelou, all served with undeniable Chicago grit.
Is it time to finally give voice to what you've survived?
Have you ever felt the weight of your past, the echoes of childhood trauma, still clinging to your spirit? For those who grew up navigating the concrete jungle, where "Where the Wind Hits Harder Than Fists" and "Raised By Sirens" were daily realities, "What Don't Kill Me I Write About" offers a profound journey of recognition and healing.
This isn't just poetry; it's an experience. As one reader powerfully shared, "I'm writing this from my downtown rooftop, looking out at the same skyline that used to mock me from the Rockwell projects. Made it out, made it big. But reading this collection brought me right back to when survival wasn't guaranteed and poetry was the only therapy I could afford."
This book understands the unspoken. It knows that "We ain't play tag we played dead and survived it"—a chilling reminder of how we sometimes had to play dead to our emotions, just to make it through. It validates your journey, from the corner store clergy to the resilience that blossomed despite it all.
For Black trauma healing, for nurturing that inner child who deserved more, these poems are a lifeline. They carry the spirit of Common, Jay-Z, and Gwendolyn Brooks, infused with a voice that feels like home. You'll find yourself in lines like, "My Demons Don't Scare Easy, But Neither Do I" and feel a deep resonance with the themes of growth and survival.
This collection is surgical in its honesty and scope. It's the complexity of Kendrick, the street philosophy of Nipsey, and the transformative power of Maya Angelou, all served with undeniable Chicago grit.
Is it time to finally give voice to what you've survived?