late nights, early thoughts.
no guide for building a brand.
except grit and grind.
five, seven, then five,
syllables mark a haiku.
remarkable oaf.
i think i’m so smart,
with my fancy little words,
this is not so hard.
boxes line the floor.
golfwear dreams in every seam.
slick prints, stroke by stroke.
ink dries, not my thoughts.
screen prints whisper quiet plans
wear it, join this tribe.
orders trickle in.
each one feels like proof of life
fuck, my dream has weight
samples hit my door.
one stitch off? the test is dead.
precision or bust.
tensions all around
factory quotes, shipping stress
but, i make it work.
margins run me thin.
still, I choose the better thread.
cheap never lasts long.
margins whisper “quit.”
but the vision’s louder still
silhouettes in bloom.
a brand’s just a bet
on ya self, and ya own taste.
i'm all in on mine.
