Through the Fog

Tag: self respect

  • 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.

  • You Say I’m a Bitch

    You say I’m a bitch

    like it’s supposed to land heavy,

    like it should fold me in half

    or make me smaller

    for your comfort.

    Like I haven’t heard it before—

    from people who needed me quiet,

    easier,

    less likely to say

    no.

    You say it

    when I don’t bend,

    when I don’t soften my truth

    to fit your version of me.

    When I choose myself

    without asking

    if it makes you uncomfortable.

    And maybe that’s the problem.

    I stopped apologizing

    for having edges.

    Stopped explaining

    why I deserve space

    in a room I already stand in.

    You call it attitude.

    I call it awareness.

    You call it cold.

    I call it boundaries

    I learned the hard way.

    Because the same voice

    that calls me a bitch

    would’ve called me weak

    if I stayed quiet,

    grateful

    for less than I deserved.

    So say it again—

    if that’s the only language

    you know.

    But understand this:

    I didn’t become this way

    to hurt you.

    I became this way

    so I wouldn’t keep

    hurting myself.

  • Misunderstood Strength

    Strength, we thought,

    was not leaving.

    It was holding the line

    while it cut us.

    It was loyalty without limits.

    It was silence

    that looked like grace.

    Now we know

    strength sometimes sounds like no,

    sometimes looks like distance,

    sometimes feels like grief

    for who we used to be.