No means No

He heard the word,

short and simple,

two letters that should crash like thunder.

But to him it was only sound,

only air escaping a mouth he thought he owned—

not a boundary, not a wall,

not the end of his wanting.

To me,

no was a trembling gate,

a last light flickering in a dark hallway,

a prayer wrapped in one syllable.

No is not an invitation.

No is not a challenge.

No is a line drawn in shaking hands

that still deserves the strength of stone.

No means my body is not a battlefield.

No means my silence is not surrender.

No means I am still a human being

even when you forget how to see me.

He thought no was weakness—

something to push through, talk over, reshape.

But no is a language learned through pain,

a word carved from history,

from warnings, from broken voices,

from those who were never listened to.

No is not small.

It is the loudest word in the world

when you finally choose to hear it.

And the man who does not know no

is not powerful—

He is afraid

of a world where he is not in control.

So I say it again.

No.

And this time,

it echoes.