So Be It
If my resistance
is hating your existence,
so be it.
Because that’s exactly
what you do.
You smile,
but erase.
You shake hands,
but smother.
You say “peace,”
but bring chains.
You wear progress like perfume,
but your breath is still empire.
Your presence
is an occupation.
So yes—
if standing tall
means rejecting you,
if my dignity
requires defiance,
if my survival
means I name you what you are—
then so be it.
Call it hate.
Call it rage.
Call it madness.
I call it breathing.
I call it remembering.
I call it:
Never again will I bow.
So be it.