Petty 💁‍♀️

 ✨ She deserved better.✨

Another woman’s hands on the skin that should have been sacred ground between them. She felt it and it felt like a thorn in her chest, a betrayal so casual he laughed at her.

It wasn’t rage, it was the trembling clarity of love saying, “This is mine to name. This is my boundary.”

When she spoke, her voice carried the ache of boundaries crossed, the tremor of a heart saying,

“This is not love, this is loss.”

And what did he give her? 

Not remorse. Not even shame. Just the spit of words meant to cut her small. He laughed, shrugged, spat out a careless blade of words:

“If you’re that petty, you can leave.”

Petty. As if commitment were small. As if respect was free. As if love should wear chains of silence and surrender. As if fidelity is a joke. As if devotion should be a one-way street paved with her silence. As if respect were a trinket too cheap to carry.

No, she wasn’t petty. She was awake. She was done bargaining with crumbs while he gorged himself on her loyalty. She was done bowing at an altar where the offering was always her.

So she stood. And her standing was fire. She walked. And her walking was thunder. Not in fury, but in clarity. She gathered her worth like wildflowers, her dignity like river stones, her spirit like the hawk in flight. And she left.

She left because she honors herself. Because the river inside her does not run dry for a man who cannot cup his hands with reverence. Because she will not shrink her soul to fit inside his absence of respect. 

Not because she was petty, but because she was powerful. Not because she lacked love, but because she carried it. For herself, first, and for the truth that no woman should shrink to fit inside a coward’s absence of respect.

The bayou remembers. It holds the echo of her footsteps, not as retreat, but as a woman claiming her worth. And the mud did not swallow her— it crowned her. The water mirrored her strength.

She did not leave in pettiness. She left in power. She left in truth. And she will never again apologize for refusing to stay where love was already gone. 

She walked away… and in walking, she was free.

And if respect looks like pettiness … then petty she shall be.

Photos are Forever 📸

 ✨revelation✨

They do not simply hang in frames or glow on screens… they carve themselves into the mind like initials in an old oak, etched so deep the bark grows around them, yet never swallows them whole.

A photo does not flinch. It does not backpedal or swear on its mother’s grave. It does not dress itself up in excuses. It simply stares back… quiet, undeniable, like a preacher’s wife catching you at the liquor store on Sunday morning.

And when it is the picture you prayed you would never see…  it wounds the heart in a way no blade could manage, cutting deep, carving its way into chambers that once held hope like a living thing.

But the waters of truth always follow the image. They open the eyes wide… pouring out like tears from a soul that begged God for a different ending.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but when that picture shatters your heart into a thousand pieces, it forces you to see things as they were all along… not as you dreamed them to be.

Those caverns of hurt become winding rivers. And as the tears flow, they begin to fill the hollow spaces until the heart, heavy with truth, finds its weight shifting toward freedom.

Because tears are holy water when they fall from an awakened soul. They wash away the cobweb lies, they rinse the rust from your faith, they carve new channels for grace to run through.

Liars will always lie… bless their black little hearts. But the truth will always outshine them. And when you have cried it clean, you will see the picture for what it really is: not the proof of what you lost, but the marker of where you began to heal.

And to the liar:  she sees you now, clear as a cypress silhouette at sunset. No shadow can cover what the light has already found. Every pixel, every line, every glance caught in that frame is a truth you can never rewrite.

It will sit in her memory like a stone in still water quiet, heavy, unmoving. Not to haunt her, but to remind her. Liars will always lie. But she will always remember.