I can’t deal with this anymore.

I can’t deal with you anymore.

I don’t have to be like you; I don’t have to think like you; I won’t be how you want me to be; you can’t control me.

Can’t you see?

You wanted me to live in your ridiculous reality, but you can no longer manipulate me in your sly ways.

This is from my heart, so hear me out—loud and clear: you can’t impose your transgenerational backwardness on me. 

You think I can’t see it, but I do.

I will no longer stand for this. Yes, you were special to me—my biggest support—but lest you forget, there’s always a boundary.

I’m not your pet; I’m not going to be a caged rat—on a wheel, trying to escape from you and your ways. Trying to escape from your pollution—your toxic pollution.

I already lived in a toxic landscape in my childhood, and when I’m around you, you haunt me; it feels like my past is visiting my present.

But now, I look up to the sky and breathe.

I form fists; I stand straight; I tell myself that I am stronger than this! Yes, I’m stronger than this!

You think it’s okay to demonize me. 

I don’t know what to believe—the suffocation you put me through or your version of the world (the one you would love to lock me in).

And no, you’ll never win. You’ll never win. 

And no offense, but I’ve been rebelling since I was a child, and that young rebel is still alive within me. In fact, more alive than ever. 

I know you think you love me, but you can’t even see it when you’re humiliating me.

You can’t treat me that way anymore, how you used to, how your own mum treated you. 

Now, there is a line. Let me reiterate: there’s a bold boundary.

I’m not a child; I’m a fully grown adult.

I’m a woman now, and you will respect me. Or, is it because I’m a woman that you thought you could have your way? Well, you can’t. I am leaving that manipulation station!

No, this will never be. 

I’ve always fought for what’s right, and I will continue to do so to the day I die. And if I don’t do it with this situation, then who the f*ck am I? I will no longer acquiesce to your old, haunting, childhood war zone; I am drawing the line, clearer than ever before. 

I’m in charge of me, and God above has got me. 

You don’t own me; I choose to leave the pain behind me. Yes, I am leaving it behind me.

This was meant to express the pain and hauntings of my past—to blow its knots away from my art—but God is greater than all my old trauma.

I’m getting wiser and finding where I stand in this world. And I will continue to pray that the old traumas stop haunting me. 

I’ve moved on. 

Puffing air, I am still moving on.