#WordsOverWar
Reclaiming my Narrative through poetry, essays, journals and other creative writings.
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My grandmother’s house never needed an address. It had a smell, a temperature, a way of holding you. I was thirty‑five before I ever learned the number on the front — because nobody used it.
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Luma tried to keep up. She stretched her glow thin, pushed it until it trembled, flew in frantic circles trying to match a rhythm that was never hers. And the harder she tried to shine like everyone else, the dimmer she felt inside.
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Precision is a boundary. It’s choosing alignment over obligation. It’s letting your “no” be a full sentence and your “yes” be a blessing — not a burden.
Eryka W. Jackson | The Brand Ambassador 