By Kristen H., TIWP Student

I was taught
to shrink my voice,
into something polite.
To fold my anger like a note
and slide it under the door
instead of speaking it out loud.

I learned early
that speaking up was “too much.”
Don’t want too loudly.
Don’t reach too far.
Softness was strength
but only when it stayed useful.

They handed us a rulebook
without our names in it,
written to reward obedience;
to crown the loud.
to discipline the “weak.”

It said smile through discomfort.
It told me to “be nice,” when I asked for more.
But when he did, they called it confidence.
They called it strength.

So I am rewriting the margins.
Crossing out the lines in the rulebook
The ones I was told kept me “safe.”
Who are they to tell me what to do?
They don’t know who I am.

A girl’s body is not a warning sign.
A girl’s voice is not a draft.
It does not exist
to be edited for comfort.

I speak because I am here.
I take space because I have the right to exist.
I do not ask permission
from a system
that was never built for me anyway.