See below for how “Don’t Tell Me,” came to be, on very short notice ~

Don’t tell me what to think—I can’t;
My mind can think for only me;
Don’t tell me what to do—I won’t;
My body is my employee—
My only one, through every breath,
Through every dance, from birth till death.

Don’t tell me what to say or not,
My voice must voice my mind’s true thought,
The thought on which my life depends,
My only life, so dearly bought;
Without my speech, my mind is mute,
I’ll die unheard, leaf to root.

Don’t draw your lines to fence me in;
Don’t force me where to stay or go;
My course I set as I deem best,
My destination, mine to know,
Around the world or round the bend,
My choice to start, my right to end.

Don’t tell me what to trade with whom,
Or dictate price for beets or bread;
The dearness of my coin in hand
Is mine to weigh for boots or bed;
What rate for labor, mine to ask;
What labor hired, mine to task.

Don’t tell me whom to love or loathe,
Or whom to praise or whom to rake;
The measure of my friends and foes
Is something only I can take;
I’ll walk with whom I’ll walk today;
For good or ill, I’ll find my way.

Don’t brandish now your gun or blade,
In threat of harm against my will,
As surely as my lungs must breathe,
I’ll think my thoughts, I’ll speak my fill;
I’ll do as I think best; I vow
That, by my life, to none I’ll bow.

~ Quent Cordair
2026

How this poem came to be: “Last night, the poet Quent Cordair did the impossible. I was rushing to release the inaugural newsletter for our new organisation, the Australian Centre for Objectivism, and asked Quent to write a commission poem. He came back eight hours later (1am in his timezone) with a brilliant six-stanza poem that matched our February theme, “The Evil of the Initiation of Force”. This gives me great confidence; with allies of his calibre, our success is assured. Thank you, Quent.” ~ Maxim Bishev