No Longer Apologies Poem by ashok jadhav

(The figure stands firm, shoulders squared, voice steady—no longer asking permission.)
No longer apologies.
I've run out of them,
worn them thin like old shoes
meant to soften every step I took.
I apologized for my tone,
for my timing,
for being too much
or never enough.
I said sorry when I was hurt,
sorry when I was honest,
sorry for wanting air
in rooms that already felt full.
But listen—
an apology should heal,
not erase.
And mine became erasers,
rubbing me out line by line.
No longer apologies
for my boundaries.
For my silence.
For my voice when it finally rose.
I will not say sorry
for choosing myself,
for stepping away from what wounds,
for refusing to shrink to fit your comfort.
This is not cruelty.
This is survival learning its name.
If I have wronged you,
I will own it—clearly, fully.
But I will not apologize
for existing with weight and truth.
So hear me now—
not softly,
not carefully—
No longer apologies.