I didn’t grow up using the word abolition. I wasn’t taught that cages could be questioned, or that care could be something other than institutional. But I felt the violence of control. I felt the weight of being Black, being a girl, being watched, being labeled, being told to be quiet. I didn’t always have the language for it—but I knew.
This blog is where I write from that knowing.
But that knowing wasn’t mine alone.
It’s a knowing passed down—through whispers, glances, poems, songs, refusals. Through the women and femmes who came before me, whose names were silenced, whose brilliance was erased, but who never stopped resisting. This blog is not just a personal space. It’s a collective act. A space to gather, to grieve, to rage, to write. A space where Black feminist abolition isn’t explained to outsiders—it’s practiced among us.
We are told that what we feel is individual. That our struggles are private. But we know better. To be a Black girl in this world is to be shaped by systems built to erase us. And yet—we live, we fight, we write. We do so with each other and for each other.
This space was born out of that need.
The need to name the violence and dream beyond it.
The need to ask, what if we didn’t mistake cages for care?
What if safety wasn’t police, prisons, or punishment?
What if we planted something else—together?
Abolition feminism gives us that possibility.
It tells us our pain isn’t isolated. It tells us that justice is not retribution. That care is not compliance. That no one is disposable. And that our survival deserves more than silence. Abolition feminism is not a trend. It’s a legacy. It’s a framework for living, and it belongs to us.
As Audre Lorde reminds us:
“Your silence will not protect you.”
So we speak.
We plant.
We build.
This blog isn’t a platform. It’s a practice.
A place to remember that abolition is not only about what we tear down—but what we grow in its place. And we are growing it here, together.If you’ve felt what I’ve felt, if you’ve lived it—this space is for you.
Stay. Read. Think. Feel. Fight. Write.
Because we know this:
Freedom can’t grow in cages.
We plant abolition instead.
Black feminism is the soil.
From the margins, we grow a new world.
In abolition, always,
Dani Key