For Bake Sake

She rises—and reaches back,
pulling another woman into the light.
Not competition, but chorus.
Not comparison, but connection.
There is a quiet kind of power
in women who choose to build,
to steady, to celebrate—
who understand that another’s shine
doesn’t dim their own.
And then there are those
who trade softness for sharpness,
who speak in whispers meant to wound—
mistaking bitterness for strength.
But even then, the truth stands:
nothing grows in the shadow of spite.
Only in the hands that lift,
do we all rise.