Poetry Selections
Protect the Black Woman, Save the World
“For every woman who survived. For every woman whose name we now speak in the past tense. For every woman still trying to find her way home to herself.”
By Orikeye Atoke, S.D.T
They told her she was strong.
So she learned to swallow the scream
before it reached her lips.
She learned to smile
with tears hiding behind her eyes,
to say, “I’m fine,”
when fine had become a language
she no longer understood.
They called her strong
when she stayed.
They called her strong
when she left.
They called her strong
when she went back.
But nobody asked
how much strength
it took to survive the night.
Nobody saw
the woman underneath
the strength.
The woman who wanted to be held
without being hurt.
Loved
without being owned.
Touched
without being afraid.
Heard
without having to scream.
She was somebody’s daughter.
Somebody’s mother.
Somebody’s sister.
Somebody’s friend.
Somebody’s baby girl
who once believed
love would feel like home
And to the women
whose stories ended too soon-
We remember you
We remember the laughter
that existed before the fear.
We remember the dreams
that were bigger than the rooms
where you were hurt.
We remember the woman
you were before someone tried
to make you disappear.
Your life was not a statistic.
Your death was not
just another headline.
You were a whole world
inside one body.
And we will not reduce you
to the way you died.
We will speak your name
with tenderness.
We will tell the truth about what happened.
We will remember
that you deserved more time.
More Mornings.
More birthdays.
More laughter.
More life.
And to the women still here-
I see you.
Even if you don’t know
what tomorrow looks like.
Even if you’re still afraid.
Even if you’ve left.
And gone back.
Even if nobody understands
why it is so hard to walk away.
Even if you are rebuilding
with nothing but your name
and the clothes on your back.
You are not weak.
You are not stupid.
You are not the abuse
that was done to you.
And you do not have to prove
your pain to deserve help.
There is a life
on the other side of survival.
There is a version of you
that laughs without checking
who is listening.
A version of you
that sleeps without fear.
A version of you
that walks through her own front door
and feels safe.
A version of you that remembers:
I belong to myself.
So let us change
what we call strength.
Let strength be the friend
who answers the phone.
Let strength be the mother
who believes her daughter.
Let strength be the sister
who says, “You can come here.”
Let strength be the community
that refuses to hide abuse
to protect an image.
Let strength be the man
who understands that love
is never ownership.
Let strength be the child
who grows up knowing
that violence is not love.
And let us build a world
where Black women
do not have to become survivors
before we decide they are worth protecting.
Because she should not have to die
for us to say her life mattered.
She should not have to bleed
for us to believe her.
She should not have to break, for us to finally reach
for her hand.
Protect her.
Believe her.
Listen to her.
Stand beside her.
Help her.
Love her without asking her
to carry the weight of the world
on her back.
Because she has carried enough.
And maybe-
Just maybe-
when we learn
to protect the woman
who has spent generations
protecting everybody else,
we will discover
that saving the world
doesn’t begin with changing the world.
It begins with making sure
the woman beside us
gets to live in it.
Protect the Black woman.
Protect her life.
Protect her voice.
Protect her right to choose.
Protect her right to heal.
And for every woman
we could not save-
we will carry your names
not as wounds alone,
but as promises.
That we will do better.
That we will speak louder.
That we will listen sooner.
That we will stop calling silence
peace.
That we will stop calling suffering
strength.
That we will stop asking women
why they stayed-
and start asking ourselves
why they had nowhere safe to go.
For the survivors.
For the sisters.
For the mothers.
For the daughters.
For the ones still fighting.
For the ones whose voices
were taken too soon.
We see you.
We remember you.
We honor you.
And we will keep going.
Protect the Black woman.
Save the world.
Orikeye Atoke
S.D.T.
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