You tried to burn the roots, but we grew anyway. You built walls, and we learned to sing through them. You stole our names, but somehow our spirits still answered. You changed the rules, changed the locks, changed the story… but every rewrite only sharpened our truth. From Greenwood’s ashes to Katrina’s floodwaters, we built again. From red lines to front lines, we marched again. From pain to poetry, we spoke again. You keep trying new ways to silence what you didn’t create, but you can’t touch what God breathed into our bones. You can chain a body, but not a purpose. You can starve a people, but not their faith. You can lie about history, but not erase it. And still, we rise, soft-spoken, unbothered, peaceful, but unbreakable. We don’t have to lash out to prove we’re strong. Our calm is the thunder. Our love is the rebellion. Haven’t you learned by now? You can hurt us, but you can’t stop us. You can test us, but you can’t take us. We always stand up. Always.