Exhibit A

a poem

There’s a strange
gift 
in being treated 
as insignificant. 

It’s learning how 
to forge 
that disregard 
into art.

You tried to become 
the invisible, 
silent, 
manipulator.

Obscure.
Untouchable.

Until…

Private wreckage
becomes public 
evidence.

Not so invisible now—

You tried to bury me 
in silence.
But silence 
has its own language.

One I speak fluently.

You aimed to keep me
small.
I turned confinement 
into scale.

You wrote behind my back 
with ink 
meant to destroy.
I used that ink 
to write revelation.

Your silence.
My material.
Your avoidance.
My voice.
Your mistake.
My catalyst.

Your silence
is not honorable 
restraint. 

Your avoidance 
is not wisdom
to hide behind.

Your mistake 
was a mirage 
of virtue.

Now the roles have changed.

My words rise beyond you,
about you,
and most importantly
without you.

Your silence
did exactly what
it was meant to do.

It made my voice
possible.

Without you.