“We call it #blackgirlmagic when a black woman makes a feast from the scraps. When she sings the morning after the murder. When she obliterates every obstacle in her path. When she forgives the perpetrator. When she tenderly wraps up the anguish and sorrow of others. When she turns her guts into glory. When she paints with her blood and sweat and tears. When she still shows up. Still beats the odds. Still loves”. Miyah Byrd

When BlackGirlMagic Miracles Don’t Happen…

A Community of Trees Whose Roots Intermingle, Nourish and Support

Your poetic prose is music to the soul — thank you for your power and glory…

Keep writing Miyah Byrd for surely your voice is honouring all the great, great grandmothers, aunts, sisters, groaning under a weight they most often had not time or space or tools with which, to articulate.

I thank you for motivating me, giving me strength, in the depths of another winter in which my sisters continue their silent treatment

Tortured for too long, and some of us become not blackgirlmagic but broken and reshaped into tools, for our torturers to use

Speaking truth to power hurts the most when the centuries-old custom of collaborating divides and rules, those you love/(d)

You stretch the sinews of your soul to understand

(While your body bleeds from fresh wounds)