I stand here now

I learned early

how to make myself smaller

so others wouldn’t feel exposed.

I learned how to bow

in rooms that never earned it.

That version of me is finished.

I lowered my voice

so nobody felt challenged.

I carried conversations

that never carried me back.

I stayed polite in tight spaces

that fed on restraint.

I paid admission

with my own silence.

That wasn’t belonging.

That was survival.

I won’t fold my spine

to fit your limits.

I won’t apologize

for standing upright.

I don’t bow anymore.

I don’t cut myself down

for rooms that refuse to grow.

I take air.

I take space.

I take what I earned

without asking.

If my presence

unsettles you,

that’s not something

I need to fix.

I carried your comfort

like it was my responsibility.

I softened my truth

so no one else had to change.

You called it confidence

when you talked over me.

You called me difficult

when I stopped agreeing.

Now the balance has shifted.

And you feel it.

I don’t negotiate my worth.

I don’t wait to be respected.

If I outgrow the room,

I leave it.

I don’t bow anymore.

I don’t lower myself

for stagnant thinking.

I stand exactly

where I am.

If you can’t meet me

eye to eye,

you don’t walk with me.

This isn’t ego.

It’s alignment.

No more shrinking.

No more softening.

No more apologies

for my size.

I rise,

or I exit.

Those are the terms.

The old life

doesn’t recognize me anymore.