Today,

I lift a prayer not just into the air—

but into the bones of those

who’ve carried silence like a second skin.

I pray for Black voices—

those that have found their sound,

and use it to slice through the fog of oppression,

to call out truth—not culture's version,

but divine truth,

rooted in hope that never rots.

I pray for voices still forming—

trembling on the edge of discovery.

Where whispers were once ignored,

now they rumble with the holy quake

of "I matter."

Whispers,

that once asked for permission