The Art of Being Done

I am done being made small
for nothing.
shrinking to fit
into places I’ve outgrown
and folding my fire into corners
to keep others comfortable.

I am done with the guilt they hand me, 
for choosing me. 
my mind, my heart, my body?
these are mine, 
and I've been too long neglecting 
their need to be free.

I am done
tolerating broken mirrors,
whether they share my blood 
or wear a stranger’s face. 
I am done with swallowing storms
to keep the peace.

I am not a doormat.
I am not disposable.
I am done.

This is the sound
of no more.