Urban Ink Poetry

I walked the asphalt like a barista of words, letting the concrete keep secrets I dared to read, its cold bite a steady drum in my restless symphony. Neon ghosts flickered by, and I carved verses into the sidewalks, hoping a passerby would mistake them for graffiti. My laugh is a shield, my pen a blade that slices through norms while trembling under the weight of my own doubt. I keep loyalty like rare vinyl—only for those who can hear the hiss of my scars. Still, I love the city’s broken poetry; it’s my restless canvas, and maybe, just maybe, it will whisper back what I’m trying to paint with my voice 🎭 #UrbanInk #ConcretePoet 🖤