Let them know I’m still the one they despise,

still the rumor that circles back like a curse, still the punchline in their laughter when they think I will never make it past the gate.

Let them know I'm the shadow in their stories, the name they whisper in pity, the face they turn from because it looks too much like “you will never make it.”

Let them know I walked through storms with no umbrella, clenched my fists in the wind, spoke to madness like it was blood, and told pain: “One day, you’ll be quiet.”

Let them know The silence I keep isn't a weakness. It’s work. It's war. It's choosing to bleed in peace instead of screaming in protests.

Let them know I stopped folding my hands for mercy. I trust my instinct now sharp like a blade, stubborn like a seed cracking concrete in the dry season.

Let them know Even in this mud, I’m learnt how to swim. I don’t need clean water to find the shore. Let them know I made my way with no google maps.

Let them know I’m not proving myself to anyone. Not them. Not anymore. Their approval never raised me. Their silence never broke me. Their noise never built me.

Let them know I will never beg. I will never bow. I will never shrink to fit the space they gave me. And if they ask how I got here, tell them this:

It started the day I stopped asking for permission and became the story they never expected to read.

Soon, I’ll stand on ground I built with my bare hands and it will feel like home.