The Word They Fear
“No” is a sledgehammer
To the pedestal they built from toothpicks,
Propped up by centuries of entitlement.
Their pride collapses—
“No” is not a request.
It’s a revolution.
It’s the sound of centuries
Breaking beneath the force of a single syllable.
They train us to smile,
To nod,
To perform.
Circus animals in their man-made ring,
Dancing for scraps of respect.
Jump through hoops.
Balance on tightropes.
Twirl on command.
And when the show is over,
We’re locked in cages
Until they come demanding more.
Men are owed everything,
They tell us.
Our time. Our bodies. Our silence.
“No” is a foreign language to them—
One they refuse to learn.
“No” becomes an insult,
A dare,
A declaration of war.
They crumble when we use it.
They can’t stand the sound of it,
So they force their way in
Where they were never invited.
And then, the world blames us.
For the skirt.
For the smile.
For not screaming loud enough.
For not fighting hard enough.
As if we weren’t raised to fear their hands.
As if their strength wasn’t a weapon
We learned to outsmart instead of defy.
We carry our fear in our pockets
Every step, a calculated act of survival.
“Don’t walk alone,” they warn us,
As though danger isn’t the shadow
We’ve been living with all along.
They don’t see the blood
On their own hands—
Only the red they demand
On our lips.