FOR SHE WHO DONT REMEMBER
She…
is not just one woman.
She is every woman.
Every soul who’s ever been told
she was too much,
too loud,
too soft,
too anything —
except enough.
But she remembers.
Oh, she remembers.
The fire buried deep in her bones,
the voices of grandmothers humming through her blood,
songs of women who prayed in secret,
and fought in silence,
and still found ways to love —
even when the world gave them none.
She has carried generations on her back
while pretending her shoulders didn’t ache.
She has held together families,
dreams,
and broken men
with nothing but grace and grit.
And still,
the world dares to question her worth?
No.
Her worth is not up for debate.
Her worth is in the way she keeps showing up —
when she’s tired,
when she’s torn,
when her heart feels like shattered glass
and still she walks barefoot through her pain
to make sure others feel whole.
Her worth is in the way she forgives,
not because they deserve it,
but because she refuses
to let hatred live inside her chest.
Her worth is in her voice —
even the one she hasn’t found yet.
It trembles,
but it tells the truth.
And one day,
the world will finally see it —
that every sunrise,
every act of mercy,
every dream reborn from ruin
was written by her hands.
Because she —
the woman,
the mother,
the daughter,
the dream —
she is not waiting to be valued.
She is the value itself.
B