I stand in a doorway
Waiting to be invited in.
But the invitation doesn’t come.
You tell me you’re too busy
Or I’m asking too much.
Or you would rather I just go away.
You don’t say these things, of course,
But in every breath and movement
I feel your annoyance at my presence.
But that’s not what you meant?
How else am I supposed to take
Your heavy sighs and simple words?
You talk over me,
Telling me that my perceptions of your (in)action
Are all in my head.
But how can that be?
Impact trumps intent.
And I am being told in word and deed that I am not welcome here.
I take a deep breath and push through the door.
I’m making space here for myself
Since you don’t see fit to.
I rearrange boxes, pull up a chair.
Finding – or carving – a place at the table.
Because I belong here.
I say it out loud:
“I belong here!”
And even if I don’t feel it, it is still true.
I feel like I’ve worked my fingers raw
Moved around furniture and set up shop.
Because the truth is I have.
And I do this too often,
Either standing uninvited on the outside
Or muscling my way in to too many spaces.
But today, I claim this space mine.
I have every right to be here.
And I just need to remember
I always have
The right to exist
To be here
Just as I am.
