When the Whisper Becomes a Quake

"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.’ “

from the Spoken Word: the Rise of Black Voices by Me

There’s this edge I keep sensing—
not a cliff, but a beginning.
Where voices once trembled,
they’re now starting to stretch.

It’s not loud.
Not yet.
But it’s holy.

The whisper that said,
“maybe I do matter,”
is learning to speak in full sentences now.

I think of the ones who’ve gone unnoticed,
not because they had nothing to say,
but because the world never thought to ask.

And now—
God’s breath is catching in their throats,
turning hush into hallelujah,
murmurs into movement.

I’m watching it.
I’m feeling it.
This rumble of Black voices no longer seeking approval,
but releasing purpose.

Fear?
It still lingers.
But it no longer has the final word.

You, whisperer,
you are rising.

Untraditional Prompt

Don’t journal.
Just listen.

What’s trying to speak through your silence today?

Don’t write it pretty.
Just catch it.
Name it in the dark.
Then let it breathe.