Bad Attitude

You call it a bad attitude

because confidence

looks rude

when it doesn’t ask permission.

Because I stopped smiling

through things

that hurt me.

Because I learned

how to say no

without decorating it

for your comfort.

You liked me better

when I was easier—

when I folded myself smaller,

when I confused silence

for peace.

Back when I apologized

for taking up space,

for having needs,

for noticing disrespect

and pretending I didn’t.

Now I speak plainly.

Now I leave

when something feels wrong.

Now I don’t explain myself

to people committed

to misunderstanding me.

And somehow

that became attitude.

Funny how boundaries

sound hostile

to those who benefited

from your lack of them.

Funny how self-respect

gets renamed

when it no longer serves

someone else.

So call it what you want.

Bad attitude.

Too much.

Difficult.

Cold.

I know what it is.

It’s the posture

of someone

who got tired

of being handled carelessly.