The Hathors

Black woman, your ancestors—

You know

The ones that came before,

The ones whose skin drank the light of the sun, somehow both obscuring its rays and returning its glow

The ones whose hair was the antennae to God herself, deeply coiled and compact in order to achieve the most surface area

They are galactic warriors of the highest calibre, the Dora Milaje of Existence

And their power flows through you.

So why are you dimming your light?