This is the voice I was never supposed to have.
You don’t need my name.
But you can call me Angel.
Ghana runs in my blood. Law runs in my bones. And every word I write is both a wound and a weapon.
Her Honor wasn’t created for approval.
She was born out of silence I refused to keep swallowing.
Out of the stories I refused to forget.
Out of a voice that was told to shrink—but didn’t.
I’m the girl caught between two continents, but I’m not lost.
I’m choosing who I become.
Every post here is part of the evidence.
BTS in my headphones. Romance on my shelves.
But this?
This is the courtroom in my mind.
Where I rehearse my future with the same urgency, I write through my past.
I write to survive.
To speak before I’m silenced.
To exist on paper long before I’m handed the floor in real life.