No, I will not.

No, I will not stand and let you break my house.
My home, my furniture, my friends
No, I will not. And I will tell you, with an echo that repeats itself
All the way to my grandmothers’ lips, to those who came before me:
No. No more. It ends here with me.
We have struggled. I learned that throughout my years
Growing up in a house with a lioness as a mother
Who taught me, her cub, about the generations of women
Before me: not so lucky.
No, not lucky at all. The ones whose hands reached all the way
To the bottom of the smallest floor to brush it clean
While he, the husband, commanded orders,
While he, a man, commanded her how to be.
No, I will not continue that cycle.
It stops with me. Me who was built with the strongest of genes
From years and years of women whose screams
Fell on deaf ears of other people who stood and said
“It’s just your role”
“This is just what you do”
No, I will not. I do not. I won’t.
So leave. Get your things before I throw them out
I stand firmly in my home with both feet on the hardwood floor
My hands pressed against my hips.
Repeating no, no more.
Get your things, get out– shut the door.
You’re not forgiven, nor will you be
Absolutely, positively not.
–No more.

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