See here's the thing about the black woman
Her hands are new
Yes she's been around for generations
But they work like new
Mending the broken
Like the tattered and unwoven
Providing for all once she's spoken

She gives life in any color
She's the original provider
Loving unconditionally
Even against her own who grow to see her conditionally

She has grown foreign in her own community
Her love beaten and battered
Diluted and shattered
Her essence was taken out of her hands
But here's my favorite thing about the black woman
She knows when to command

We shouldn't be passed down as replaceable

Value us more
Because god forbid we value ourselves too
Then it's a riot
It's "what about them?"
"What about us"
We matter too

There is no longer a need for a prayer
She knows where she stands
She has utilized being foreign in her own land
The love of a black woman can no longer be folded
She is as still as air

And finally as it should be, she's in her command