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By Jeremiah Okallany

Some people wait for permission to become who they are meant to be. Others refuse to wait. In I Do Not Come Gently, Jeremiah Okallany writes with defiance about ambition, persistence and becoming. The poem rejects limitations imposed by other people and turns every “No” into another reason to rise. It is a declaration that greatness does not require permission—and neither should a person apologise for pursuing it.

I do not come gently.

I do not bow my head to ceilings
painted blue to mimic heaven,
nor shrink beneath the hush
of someone else’s comfort.

I come with storms in my stride,
a fire kindled in bone,
my dreams not built to fit inside
your tidy boxes or polite restraint.

I’ve known the weight of “No,”
worn it like a second skin,
but I peeled it back,
layer by layer,
until I stood bare and blazing.

What you call impossible,
I call overdue.

What you call ambition,
I call breath.

I’ve risen, not by invitation—
but by persistence.

Every mountain I climb is claimed,
not granted.

There is no end to what I can become.
No height I owe an apology.

And I will not apologise
for all my greatness.

I move like rivers uncontained,
carving stone without permission,
carrying history in my wake,
and the future in my hands.

I am not reaching.

I am becoming.

— Jeremiah Okallany

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