I was supposed to nod.
To take the deal.
To play it safe,
smile tight,
stay grateful for scraps.
I was supposed to say yes.
Yes to the job that guts me.
Yes to the rules that erase me.
Yes to shrinking
until I disappeared between invoices and shame.
But I didn’t.
I said no.
And god, it tasted like oxygen.
No to your deadlines.
No to your dress codes.
No to your passive-aggressive policies
written in suits and spit.
I said no,
and the world didn’t end.
It cracked open.
Turns out
saying no isn’t weakness.
It’s birth.
It’s the first word of building something better.
You don’t own me.
Not my body,
not my time,
not my rage.
You don’t get my back bent.
You don’t get my silence.
You don’t get to call me broken
for not fitting into your machine.
I am not broken.
I am unfitting on purpose.
And that’s power.
There’s joy in this.
In saying no and meaning it.
In walking out of your office,
your church,
your family dinner,
with my head up and my spine intact.
No is not bitter.
No is not cold.
No is holy.
No is the beat in the protest song.
No is the breath before the first brick flies.
No is survival turned sacred.
I don’t owe you sweetness.
I don’t owe you comfort.
I owe myself the truth.
And today, the truth is:
No.
No to your world
built on obedience and debt.
No to your cages
painted as careers.
No to your love
that comes with conditions and curfews.
I’d rather be alone in the open
than safe in your lie.
So here I am.
Not asking.
Not apologizing.
Laughing.
Louder than I was ever allowed to.
#poetry #SayNo #RadicalSelfRespect #QueerVoices #FeministPoetry #Unapologetic #Resistance #Liberation
