Mine

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The way my “no” used to get scraped
off the plate
like it didn’t belong there.

I used to think saying no was dangerous.
That my voice
was optional.
That my boundaries
could be bent
by someone else’s appetite.

So I chewed and I swallowed
society’s thoughts of what I should be.
It lingered in the bite I didn’t want to take
but did anyway.

Because saying no felt like breaking a law
I never agreed to.

I learned to shrink
before I even grew.
To please
before I even spoke
To disappear
before I was ever seen.

But I’m done swallowing silence.
I’m done seasoning my discomfort
to make others more comfortable.

My “no” is full-bodied now.
My “yes” wears boundaries like armor.

And I don’t eat guilt.
And I don’t eat shame served cold
on expectation’s plate.

I eat truth.

I eat meals made of my own choosing.
And this voice?

This voice is seasoned.
Bold.
Loud.

This voice is mine.

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