When the sky weighs low, pressing down like chains,
and the country—our own—stumbles again,
I want you to know, sister, I am here,
standing beside you, arms steady, eyes clear.
For every time you’re made to carry more,
made to bend, made to fight through a storm
that only ever rains on us, I am here
bearing witness to your strength, your grace, your fire.
They don’t know the rivers you’ve crossed,
the bridges you’ve built and burned
to protect our names, our futures, our joy—
but I do sister, I see you. I hold that story close.
And I know the anger they aim at you—
the way they call you strong to excuse the weight,
to pretend they can’t hear your cry,
as if you’re a stone instead of a woman.
But here, sister, is where we link arms,
where we fight their silence with our own song,
with a love so bold it outlasts the night.
Let them see us, see our resolve—the way we stand.
You hold this world together, make it bearable,
your hands shaping hope from the dust of dreams.
And even when they try to dim your light,
to bind your voice, I am here, saying “yes” with you.
Yes to your beauty, your brilliance, your being,
to every wound healed, every mile you walk
with your head high, your pride untamed,
as if to say to the world: “I am still here.”
I am here, and I see you. I see us,
weathering storms we didn’t make,
and sister, I promise I will be here
in the quiet and the chaos, beside you in the fight.
They can turn their backs, but we turn to each other,
building strength, brick by brick, bone by bone.
They can stumble, but we rise—we rise,
until the light is ours, and we hold it steady,
flooding this world, brilliant and unbroken,
in a dawn that is finally, undeniably ours.
- From a black man
This poetry was written by our College Ambassador, Dorian Bowman, a student at Tennesse State University.
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