Soft, Poetic, Ancestral, Powerful
“I am because they were.”
Voisstry Legacy Dedication
This legacy was born on January 11, 2026, at 4:27 PM — the same moment I entered this world. Purpose and breath arriving together. Destiny and daughter entering at the same time.
My mother, Ruby Mitchell, gave me softness, compassion, and the quiet strength of a woman who loved without limits.
My father, John B. Mitchell, gave me confidence, strategy, advocacy, and the brilliance of thinking in chess, not checkers. He was my first example of leadership and self‑belief — a well‑rounded man, a Masonic Lodge brother, an Air Force serviceman, and the steady voice that taught me to trust my own mind.
From her, I learned the heart.
From him, I learned the mind.
Together, they shaped the balance within me.
Together, they built the resilience that lives through their baby daughter.
Although this dedication circles around my mother, it also belongs to my father.
SALUTE to the man who shaped my strength.
SALUTE to the woman who shaped my spirit.
They are no longer here, but their legacy lives on right here —in this mission, in this work, in this becoming.
— Voisstry in my Po‑etriii — Voisse
In Honor of Ruby’s Heart Home
🌸 “Hey Gal…” —🌸 A Poem for Ruby (Mama)
She was raised on red earth and early mornings, where the sun rose slow over the fields
and the work taught you who you were.
A farm girl with strong hands and a soft laugh,
she carried the land inside her —
steady, humble, rooted.
Mama could talk for hours,
stories rolling out like warm bread from the oven,
and I’d sit there laughing,
because she always knew how to make life feel lighter.
Even now, her voice drifts through my memory
like a careless whisper,
soft but unforgettable.
“Hey gal… what you doing?”
I still hear it.
That familiar greeting,
that melody of love wrapped in everyday words.
“Where’s my ZaZa?”
she’d ask with that smile in her voice.
“Have you heard from Doodi?”
And then, softer still,
“What about my great‑grandbabies…
where’s Laevaeh and A’zaiah?”
She loved her people out loud.
She loved them in roll‑call fashion,
checking on every branch of her tree
like a woman who knew her roots mattered.
Oh Mama…
how I miss you.
Your laughter.
Your stories.
Your way of turning a simple moment
into something sacred.
But I know you had to go.
And still —
you didn’t leave me empty.
You left me your heart.
You left me your warmth.
You left me your way of loving people right.
Now your legacy lives in my hands,
in my work,
in this home I’m building in your name.
Ruby, you are the blueprint.
I am just the daughter continuing the work.
— Voisstry in my Po‑etriii — Voisse
