The spirit of a wildflower

In the garden of Becoming Herrss, the wildflower is more than a symbol. She is memory, prayer, and proof of every Black woman who bloomed when no one watered her. She grows in places she was never meant to survive, cracks in concrete, soil that forgot her name, and still, she rises. This movement was born from that kind of becoming. From the ache of women who carried too much in silence. From the softness we were told was weakness. From the wisdom that lives in our wounds. We are the ones who were buried in trauma and called broken, but we were just seeds. Becoming Herrss is not just healing, it is reclamation. It is the return to who we were before the world taught us to perform our worth. Even when no one sees us, we root. Even when it’s hard, we stay. Even when we feel lost, we remember. Our softness is not weakness, it is sacred. This is for every woman who dared to bloom anyway. Becoming Herrss is a sanctuary for the silenced and the split, where shadow meets light and femininity is free. It is a movement where Black women can finally breathe, cry, grieve, rest, and expand without shrinking or apologizing. A world where we do not have to earn our rest, where our beauty is defined by truth, and where our power is not just in what we survive, but in how we rise and return to ourselves. Our vision is a future where every Black woman knows she is allowed to be soft and strong, wild and wise, beautiful and bold all at once.

Still I Rise

By Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.