Two years spent waiting for the right opportunity,

in a humid southern state.

In a humid small town,

In a humid black minivan

With the sun glaring in from the windshield at us;

Burning my thighs.

Parked at the K-12 school with rotting grass I spent less than a month at.

The school that so quickly made me know who I was,

By forcing me into someone I’m not.

That was when I told you.

When I wasted every single ounce of self-confidence I had, to tell you that

“I don’t like who I am. I don’t like my body,

And I don’t like how people see me.”

Beating around it, I was too scared to say the word.

And what I got in return wasn’t what I needed.

I wonder what would’ve been different if I had said the word.

If I had stood up for myself.

And if I hadn’t spent every night wallowing on how people would see me once I said it.

You said, “If you were like that, you’d hate yourself.

People like that aren’t like you. People like you wear dresses and makeup. People like you are safe. People like that, aren’t.

You’re too young.

And too dumb.”

While you’re right, “people like that” aren’t safe.

Not safe from the laws that claim to protect us.

Not safe from people.

And not safe from the statistics that show how those people, and those laws cause over 40 percent of transgender youth to attempt suicide.

And eighty percent to consider it.

Almost a year later, I tell you again,

On my uncomfortable mattress with the only light being from the twilight sun.

I say the only thing I think you’ll hear.

I tell you: “I’d rather have a short life and live how I want.

Over a long life of hating who I was.”

I tell you: “I’d rather die than be who you thought I’d be when I was born.

I know why now,

Why you told me all of it on that humid afternoon.

You didn’t know what to say.

You were unprepared,

And scared of the statistics.

Even now I feel terrified to say the word.

Like only people who understand what it’s like, need to know this.

Even now I’m terrified of someone knowing.

Like it’s some giant cliché secret and not people’s lives.

I know why you’re scared of the statistics,

You’re a mother, you wanted to protect me.

The last thing any parent wants is to hear their child has been killed.

Whether by someone else,

Or their own hand.

For being trans.