We Are the Miracles It Missed
They called it violence.
And for a while—
I believed them.
I believed I was broken.
I believed our love was too much,
too loud,
too raw,
too painful to be sacred.
I confused survival with shame.
I mistook pain for proof.
I called us what they called us,
before I knew the truth.
Before I knew me.
But now,
I know.
---
I know the difference
between harm and healing.
Between not knowing
and being unworthy.
Between silence
and peace.
We weren’t violent.
We were unseen.
We were unheld.
We were still trying to remember
we came from brilliance.
We cried.
We screamed.
We stayed.
We grew.
They saw mess.
We saw becoming.
They saw danger.
We saw devotion.
---
We didn’t have peace,
but we had prayer.
We didn’t have safety,
but we had softness — sometimes.
We didn’t have tools,
but we had time.
We had choice.
We had each other.
No manual.
Just memory.
No blueprint.
Just bloodline.
---
The real violence
was not knowing ourselves.
Not being taught our light.
Not being given room to bloom.
Not being seen
in the fullness of our trying.
But now—
self-love is the standard.
Space is sacred.
We are not empty.
We are not dangerous.
We are not theirs to define.
---
The harm?
It may still knock.
But it doesn't get in.
It doesn't live here.
Because the deeper parts of us
remember.
No shelter.
Just breath.
No bed.
Just grass.
No door.
Just dawn.
No light.
Just us.
---
We made homes from scraps.
We made love from lack.
We made joy from cracked earth.
They called it violence.
But ours—
our love isn’t traditional.
It doesn’t always have words.
It doesn’t always look familiar.
But it is real.
It is chosen.
It is still here.
---
And from this love—
came light.
Came legacy.
Came children,
with our laughter in their lungs,
our prayers in their skin,
our becoming in their eyes.
They are proof.
Of what can bloom
from what the world tried to bury.
---
Not for them.
For Allah.
For the One who always saw us whole.
We are not the violence.
We are the miracles it missed.
We are the bricks.
Laid in sorrow.
Held by prayer.
Still standing.
Still here.
---
With love and honor,
Chriseithia
Founder of Black Self Wellth™
---
This is sacred work, not open source.
Please honor the heart behind these words.
All rights reserved © Chriseithia Collins | Black Self Wellth™