Whole Poem by Henrietta Ezegbe

I did not come here to disappear.
I arrived carrying myself, unpacked and breathing.

They call it fitting in as if it were kindness, as if softening your vowels were the same as being welcomed, as if rooms that never pictured you could teach you how to belong.

I say no, gently, with a spine made of listening.
I practice an honesty that knows its own gravity, an authenticity that warms the air without reaching for a hand.

I let myself be seen in ways that leave me whole.
This is not shrinking.
This is not retreat.
This is self preservation finding its pitch.

I offer my truth like water, only where the earth remembers how to drink. I keep what is tender for palms that know the difference between holding and taking.

My allies may be few, but they are unmistakable.
With them, I am not a footnote.
With them, my laughter arrives intact. With them, my breath returns without explanation.

Balance meets me between vigilance and wonder, between the raised shield and the open hand, between being visible and being safe.

And somewhere, not everywhere, but somewhere, there is a room that does not require translation.

My presence is not assessed there.
My silence is not mistaken.
My spirit is not edited for comfort.

I am not bracing.
I am not rehearsing.
I am not dividing myself into acceptable portions.
I am simply here.

I am whole.