Tired of Fear

I remember the first steps, not forward, but inward. A world too sharp, too dangerous, where I folded myself away to avoid the weight of their eyes, the cruelty of their voices. Freak. Liar. Something worse. They said I had no right to be. They made me fight my way home, made me believe that survival was rebellion. And then, for a while, the world softened. I walked through streets without shrinking, laughed with friends, dressed in joy, felt like I belonged to something, not just a fight, but a life. But now, the shadows return. Fear moves beside me again, whispering caution into my steps, pressing its weight onto my breath. It should not be this way. Not now. Not ever. Yet, I will not be silent. I will not bow to their hate. I have carried too much, endured too long, to disappear. I am transgender. I will always be proud. And I will not stop until the world remembers that we deserve to live, to love, to be safe. Hate is the sickness. We are not the problem.