⭐️

“1998 baby”

we grew up on dial-up and disappointment.

sugar in our cereal,

static in our souls.

raised on love songs and

parents who never said sorry.

we learned to romanticize the wreckage—

lip gloss on the bruises,

camera phone confessions,

smiles sharp enough to cut silence.

life never came easy,

little red wanderer, speckled and shy,

you carry luck across the sky.

no one is illegal

on stolen land.

we carry ancestors in our breath,

not papers in our hands.

we belong by blood, by survival,

by stories they tried to erase—

and still, we rise.

uninvited? no.

the sun leans low with golden grace,

whispers warmth on every face,

but it’s the trees she loves the most —

their quiet limbs, their rooted ghosts.

she kisses every leaf and limb,

with honeyed light along the brim,

they sway like dancers in a trance,

bathed in a glowing, slow romance.

no words are said, no vows are sworn,

just morning breath on branches worn,

a fleeting touch, then she must flee —

hug a tree. feel how still the earth is,

how it gives without asking.

you’re allowed to receive just like that.

no chasing. no forcing.

888

abundance is flowing to you.

karma is being balanced.

what you gave out is returning—multiplied.