Territory Poem by Henrietta Ezegbe

Corridors leaned in.
Walls held expectation.
You bent, softened, polished
reflections that were never yours.

Shame settled low,
a quiet ballast.
Kindness offered
as terms for staying.

The air carried
what was not yours
and called it praise.

That arrangement
no longer holds.

Doors open
and close
on your timing.

Windows take
your horizon.

Air adjusts
without instruction.

Old crowns echo
cold hands,
raised for the unworthy.
You let them pass.

Memory is map.
Distance, proof.

You move with gravity.
Steps decide.
Pauses hold.

Presence alters the room
without request.

Approval drifts.
It is not required.

Refusal.
Boundary.
Glance.

Each one
holds.

The world murmurs.
You do not.

What remains
does not borrow.

It stands.