Your voice is sacred steel, Queen.
Passed down from women who weren’t allowed to read, but still taught the world how to listen.
It’s not just sound. It’s legacy.
When you speak, your great-grandmother’s resilience echoes through your vowels. Your mama’s warnings and wisdom ride shotgun on your tongue. Your voice carries cookouts, church pews, prays, protest lines, and pillow talk. It’s full of gospel and grit.
So don’t you dare shrink it.
Don’t dull your brilliance to make mediocre ears comfortable. Don’t let titles, silence, or stares make you second-guess your gut. Your truth don’t need a permission slip. And your brilliance don’t require a translator.
Speak up. Speak loud. Speak clear.
Call out the double standards wrapped in fake compliments:
“Oh, you’re so articulate.” As if intelligence should surprise them when it comes in Black skin.
Correct the ones who mistake your boundary for attitude.
“I’m not being aggressive. I’m being heard.”
And when they try to play you small in rooms you earned your way into?
Don’t whisper. Command.
Because silence doesn’t protect you—it only protects the lie.
Let your voice carry. Let it disrupt. Let it teach, reach, and, when necessary—cut.
You are the descendant of women who weren’t allowed to speak freely.
So every word you drop is a revolution.
Add comment
Comments