There’s a rhythm in the way you walk, a melody in every sway of your hips, like the ancestors whisper through your steps, we survived so you could shine like this.
You wear history in your hair, braids like stories twisted with patience, every bead a memory, every parting a map of where we’ve been. You don’t just style your crown, you testify with it.
See, I’m from the States, where some of us forgot that being Black is art, where they tried to straighten our roots, and bleach our truth until we couldn’t recognize the reflection. But when I see you, Queen from the soil of the sun, you remind me of everything they tried to make us forget.
Your beauty ain’t defined by filters, it’s carved from strength, seasoned with struggle, and wrapped in gold energy that no brand could ever sell. The world studies your rhythm, tries to imitate your vibe, but they can’t decode the soul in your stride.
You turn sidewalks into runways, Tembisa to Times Square, you’re the trend before it trends. Black girl joy is a revolution, and your laughter, that’s the sound of God smiling back at creation.
You are the blueprint, the birthright, the balance. Soft but unbreakable. Gentle, but never small. You been magic, before they tried to brand it. You been whole, before they tried to sell you pieces.
So don’t dim that melanin glow, don’t hide those stretch marks, they’re lightning from storms you conquered. Don’t apologize for your tone, your thickness, your crown, your power. You are the definition of divine design, the proof that God took His time.
And if the world ever forgets how sacred you are, let this poem be a reminder from across the ocean, we see you, we love you, we honor you, Braids, Beads, and Being Black. You’re not a trend, you’re the reason rhythm exists.
I dedicate this to all our beautiful African women. When I see you, I see pure, unmatched beauty. I stand in awe of your strength, your grace, and your light. I honor you, uplift you, and love you deeply. — Guy B Duhon Jr.
