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❝ I grew up going to Sunday school
Little girl with big eyes and a bigger hunger for God Mouth so full of Arabic before I even knew what my tongue was capable of Allāhumma ṣalli ’ala sayyidinā Muhammad And that word — sayyidinā -- That master Sat in my chest like a stone I was too scared to name Because where I’m from, Master was not a title of love Master was not a title we gave willingly Master was the whip that bent backs Master was the auction block, the blood on the bark of southern trees Master was the reason my last name ain’t the one God wrote for me So how do I, a Black woman, Descendant of the stolen and the unspoken, Pray with the word master on my tongue and mean it with love?
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