"I’m Still Here"

I hear that you don’t want me here.
But I’m not going anywhere.

You may not understand me.
You may never even try.
But that doesn’t make me less real,
less valid,
or less human.

You don’t have to like me.
You don’t have to agree with me.
But I’m not shrinking to make you comfortable.

You can hate me.
And still — I won’t hate you back.

Because I know who I am.
And I will not become what you expect
just to survive you.

I will exist.
Loudly.
Fully.
Without your permission.

You want me gone.
You’d rather I disappear.
You don’t see a person,
you see a threat.
A problem.
A mistake.
Something to erase.

You hide your hatred behind flags.
Behind books.
Behind God.
Behind politics.

But I see it.
I feel it.
Every time your eyes try to make me small.
Every time your silence screams louder than words.
Every time someone like me dies,
and you say nothing.

I know what you want.
You want me silent.
Bent.
Ashamed.
Dead.

You want me to believe I don’t belong.
That my skin, or love, or voice, or difference
is something to fix, erase, or fear.

But here’s the part you don’t get:

I already died,
when I put a mask on for you.
I was born when I stopped trying to be what you wanted.

Now, I live.
Loudly.
Fully.
Without. Your. Permission.

You think your bigotry makes you strong.
But it only shows how scared you are.

You need supremacy because equality feels like loss to you.
You need hate because loving yourself was never enough.
You need control because deep down, 
you know you're not free either.

Threaten me.
Mock me.
Erase my name from your books.

But you can’t kill what refuses to vanish.

I am here.
Not for you.
But in spite of you.

And I won’t go back underground
just to keep your world comfortable.