(a street poem by DiegoJae)

Born where winters bite and summers spit heat—

Detroit streets taught me rhythm before I knew the beat.

East side chaos, west side lessons,

backyards and basements became my confessions.

A pit bull heart with a poet’s tongue,

I bend but don’t break, been doin' this since young.

Got kicked out the nest, flew through broken skies,

every scar I wear got truth behind the lies.

They say “stay in your lane,” but I pave my own,

with a chipped-up crown and a mobile phone.

No lights, no water, still the vision clear—

Majik in the ink, turn pain into premiere.

Adaptable. Ain’t just a word I say,

it’s stitched in my hustle, it’s how I pray.

It’s sleeping on couches, still dressing in pride,

it’s the music I make when the world collides.

It’s loving too hard, then learning the burn,

it’s flipping the script when tables don’t turn.

I’m soul over sound, I’m beat over boast,

I’m the ghost in the groove when you need it most.

So when they ask me what I’ve been through,

I don’t unpack—I paint the view.

With rhythm, with grace, with a whisper or roar,

I’m the storm and the shelter, the slam and the door.

Adaptable.

Like the art I bleed,

like the life I grow