when running the world (like "divas") because we're girls on fire isn't enough...

Too often I find myself fumbling for footing in a space dense with poorly crafted songs frequently passed off to us (black women) and our younger sisters as "anthems"; anthems we are to regard are our cherished tokens of empowerment and validation. In accepting these consolation prize hymns we inherently accept the second rate, powerless images of ourselves which they project. I stumbled upon "She" by Laura Mvula via a tweet from the unparalleled Ghanaian-British soul singer, Kwabs. In this song, I see recounted an internal discourse which I (and many other black and brown women) engage in daily.

"There she waits looking for a savior; someone to save her from her dying self."

Be it consciously, or simply by virtue of natural human longing (exacerbated by the litany of "unifying" oppression among POC) it seems that we are in constant search for a "savior-figure" (I'm not speaking religiously but if it applies to you in that vein: get it how you need it); some external person or thing to champion and rescue us, voluntarily and without compensation. In passing off the commendations of  the positive results in our lives to "a patch of luck" or an outside source, unduly, we are simultaneous casting negative results in our lives on our designated saviors, detracting from our ability to own and learn from our mistakes...stunting our growth.

"She's tired. But she don't stop."

But in this search, when (or if ) we ever meet an expected end, many of us are met by a house of mirrors upon crossing the finish line: ourselves in all of our divinely-crafted forms. In coming face to face with ourselves, we are faced with the decision of either utilizing the tools of the woman before us or neatly tuck her away and continuing to search for that which we've already witnessed in ourselves.

It is too easy to be faced with your own potential (sans an audience) and simply choose to side-step her in an effort to avoid the inevitable 360° life-reformation, new responsibilities, and temporary heartache of the loss of a sense of (static) normalcy.

"She heard a small voice say, 'You don't stop. You belong to me.' "

What if this sentence was the foundation of our approach to (1) ourselves and (2) the women/girls in our midst?  What would a university/neighborhood/(shit...)club filled with women who claimed their stake in the women around them, without sorority, religious, or any other obligatory ties look like? How do we forge a culture of all-inclusive ownership; one that reinforces our strengths, acknowledges and tenderly advises our weaknesses, and more importantly lends to the self-efficacy of anyone within 7 degrees of these relationships? We've tried shaming our sisters into transcendence. We've given discipline and punishment in hopes of facilitating betterment the good ol' college try. We even utilized the wiles of isolation and alienation. It's never too late to get up and decide not to stop. Try today.

"She don't stop."

- bone, juh, & harmony