They didn’t remove me for failing,
they removed me for shining
where light feels uncomfortable.
They clap in daylight,
but in the shadows
they try to erase you.
It’s not justice,
it’s envy with rules.
They used me to grow,
and when I bloomed,
I became the problem.
But they forget something:
what’s real
can’t be erased.
And even if they try,
truth does not disappear
it only changes place.
It moves into silence,
into memory,
into the quiet corners of those
who saw it before it was denied.
They can rename you,
misinterpret you,
turn your presence into a question
they are more comfortable avoiding.
But what you were
does not depend on their permission.
There is a strange resilience
in being misunderstood for too long
you begin to stop asking
to be translated.
And instead
you become something steadier.
Not louder.
Not smaller.
Just certain.
Because real things do not beg to be believed.
They remain.
Even when they are denied.
Even when they are hidden.
Even when they are left unspoken
in rooms full of applause.
@newgirldark