Family Doesn’t Mean Safe
“If you’re free, call me.”
I told her my name is Maddie.
I told her I don’t like being called [insert deadname].
She said I was delusional.
She asked who brainwashed me.
She demanded to know who I lived with.
She said, “You were always a manly man. You can’t be gay. I’m your mother.”
I told her I’ve loved boys, girls, and nonbinary people.
That there’s nothing wrong with me.
That this is who I’ve always been.
She told me to take off my earring.
Told me to go back to being “normal.”
She said, “Hopefully, God willing, this will go away.”
She asked: “What do you want from us now?”
“Nothing. Accept me, or don’t talk to me at all.”
Clutched her imaginary pearls.
And then she said, as spitefully as she could manage:
“Goodbye, [insert deadname].”
“Yeah yeah. Whatever. Goodbye.”
That was April 1st, 2025.
The day the curtain dropped.
The day I stopped letting legacy speak louder than truth.
They don’t get to name me.
They don’t get to silence me.
They don’t get to pretend I’m theirs anymore.
I spoke. I burned. I lived.