Take Me Off Mute

I am done letting people who don’t matter write my obituary in advance.
I’m done watching cowards with no vision, no guts, no history of surviving anything hand out rules like they earned them.
I’ve buried better people than the ones who told me to lower my voice.

I’ve saved lives at 3AM and still made my 7AM shift, but sure — tell me again how I should “calm down.”
I’ve held hands through detox, through grief, through withdrawal, through heartbreak, and I've done it while people with dry hands and dead eyes sat in meetings judging my tone.

You want to coach me? Coach yourself into relevance.
You want to mentor me? Bring credentials or bring silence.
I’m not here to audition for people who wouldn’t survive a week in my memories.

I’ve bent so far backwards trying to be liked that my spine filed a complaint.
And still, it was never enough.

Polite didn’t save me.
Quiet didn’t protect me.
Shrinking didn’t earn me respect — it just made me easier to ignore.

So hear me now: I will never again water myself down to make room for someone else’s mediocrity.
If I’m “too much,” maybe you should want more.
If I make you uncomfortable, you should be.
I’ve outgrown your rooms, your rules, your rosters of fake friends who smile through clenched teeth and collapse behind closed doors.

You do not get to speak on my life from your little throne of nothing.
Not when I’ve resurrected my own damn self more times than I can count.

I am not a story you get to edit.
I am not a reference you get to name-drop when it’s convenient.
I am not your assistant.
I am not your secret.
I am not your stepping stone on the way to your little dreams.
I am not small.
I never was.

You just hoped I wouldn’t notice. But guess what?
I did.
And now I’m taking up space like it’s owed to me.
Because it is.

So let the insecure choke.
Let the liars stammer.
Let the petty form committees.
Let them write their little emails.

Me?

I’m already gone.
On fire.
Unbothered.
And bigger than ever.