“Who’s Responding?” by Both Hands on the Mic Who’s that talkin’ through your teeth, love? That sharp tongue ain’t you, that’s the wound—you dressed in armor but still bleeding through silk. Every time you clap back, a child in you cries. Every time you ghost ‘em, a ghost in you rises. You say, “they triggered me.” Nah, baby— they revealed you. You ain’t mad at them. You mad at the way your daddy never saw you. You mad at your mama’s silence, how she swallowed her own truth and taught you to do the same. You think that lover left you broken? Nah— they just uncovered where you were already cracked. And instead of pouring gold in the fracture, you pour another drink. You block, you run, you blame, you numb— but never once ask: “Who’s responding right now?” Is it the one who learned love meant surviving? Or the one who’s learning love means staying with yourself long enough to become whole. You bring babies into battlefields hoping they’ll bring peace. Call it legacy— when it’s jus...