she told me she had to write

a let of recommendation

for her friend

to adopt from China

in 1989

she had to leave out

that her friend was a lesbian

which was forbidden

meaning she was unsuitable

I wonder what was

more unwanted

a baby girl when

the biological parents

craved only sons

or the adoptive mother’s shame

for being gay

waiting for a child

that won’t care either way

Letting go,

believing,

trusting,

seeing you,

for you,

without,

judgement,

condemnation,

or caveat,

realizing,

to love,

I must

accept.

My dog General Sherman is in training for the 2024 Paris Olympics. He is very fast off the mark in a sprint and is a terrific leaper, so hurdles are no problem, although he is too lazy for the longer distances. He has decided to run as a woman, not because he believes he would have a better chance for gold, but because the bikini shorts they wear fit him better than the tighter, longer men’s shorts that leave no room for his tail.

I explained to him that he will have to undergo hormone therapy to run as a woman, but he said that will be fine. “They have already cut off my nuts,” he chimed, “nothing else they do to me can hurt so much.”

It is a good point. It is no lie to say he has a chance to win by a nose, although for the life of me I can’t understand why he chooses to identify as human in the first place.

Puppets and dogs just don’t know when they have it good.

I looked up "pride" in the thesaurus, and found "self-esteem," "self-love," "self-worth."

Pride is also an emotion—the feeling of contentment the shines from somewhere deep inside myself when I know I've done something well. When I follow through, when I help, when I grow, when I say no to what doesn't serve or yes to what does.

I think sometimes I look for worth outside myself. I reflect back everything I find in other places, and wonder if that makes me enough. But it doesn't; it never did. True worth comes from within, and that golden feeling of pride is what happens when I know I'm enough.

I think I've seen myself as easy; easy to get along with. It wasn't always that way, but the walls I built put me in a safe place where I can forget I wasn't seen or heard.

I thought loving myself was easy for me, but maybe it wasn't. It was, and it wasn't.

Pride is the opposite of shame. We took our shame and swished and squashed it in our fingers and re-shaped it into pride. We've known the way shame and pride need each other, felt how the strongest pride creates the strongest shame, and the strongest shame creates the strongest pride.

We've wondered, am I enough? (Am I gay enough? Am I straight enough? Am I queer enough? Am I good enough?)

And where we can, we've found each other. We've wrapped our arms all together, a net of breathing limbs, and held on tight.

We're learning how to be seen and heard.

We're learning how to feel we are enough. (Not how to be enough, because we were enough all along; we're learning how to feel it.)

We're learning what makes us human.

And to anyone who feels threatened by it all: maybe you're jealous of our freedom. Maybe you haven't found your own humanity yet. Maybe you've never been seen or heard. Maybe you've never been hurt for who you are, and not because no one's ever hurt you (I know you've been hurt), but because you don't know who you are.

I know you're scared. We all are. But it's okay to take a look inside yourself and realize that you might not be just what you thought. You might not be normal. You might not be easy.

I've wondered, am I enough? (Am I good enough? Am I queer enough? Do I even belong here?) And maybe that's why I'm so proud that the answer is, "yes!"

What does Pride month mean to me?

To the average straight cis-male like me it might not mean much. However, to me, it is a time to appreciate and accept all those who are different. Men can love men. Women can love women. Those questioning their gender identity should be able to express themselves how they want to and feel comfortable with it. No one should take it away.

As for me, I stand with them, waving a rainbow flag in one hand while the other grasps their free hand.

Happy Pride Month, Prose!

#Pride #PrideMonth #lgbt #loveislove

I grew up in a community library. Book drives and donations, or the lost and found or someone waiting to forget brought in books during Late December and Early Summer, but mostly, it was just us; worn covers and hand-me-downs. Little spinal fractures and spirals twisting on the front covers.

From time to time, a book would watch daylight from the wooden oak. Some left and returned. Some disappeared without a trace. I sat somewhere in between the history sections and the poetry, such things we had signs for; romance, fantasy, biographies and recipes, big dictionaries that couldn't walk as well as the others and sat down with a heavier sigh each time they were used, older versions gradually disappearing into dust.

I listened to music from a small radio. Scanned newspapers from this angle. Watched boxes come in and out and in again. Watched piles of coffee cups take over the table.

I liked this. I didn't mind the sages to my left; stroking their beards and smoking pipes, or wearing rhinestone glasses, or wearing old army uniforms and kohl around their eyes. I didn't mind the worn, dusty blazers to my right, scarves drawn tight around the neck, black spectacles and ink stains on their calluses. I liked the consistent scent of coffee, the music from the radio, the rain beating through the windowpane, this big brown shelf with big brown and black and white books.

Home.

So, being shelved with the classics was an anomaly. There were less scarves, more necklaces, and elaborate dresses with skirts that could span the size of a walking path. Skirts that covered your legs or that ended at your knees, painted with watercolour, the vagueness of a grey-ish tone between the primary colours and rainy days. I looked at my own turquoise rhinestone glasses and patchy muslin scarf and my skirt, that ended at my knees, painted something like the sunlight before dawn. I made some friends.

It was as if a hummingbird knocked at my window. I clicked my ruby shoes thrice and ended up in two different places; I watched the coffee drain out of the pot from two angles and heard the rain hit atop my head instead of right beside me. I watched the librarian shelve and reshelve books, watched borrowers and books through a full century around the library and ended up home each time. I watched fiction books look at romance and chat over tea, and history books visit the philosophy section and stay for a few weeks. I heard the small click of heels on the wooden floor and sat on the table and grew up that way.

-:D

This is a short piece based on Pride Month: I won't get into anything heavy or serious or political, but on an emotional level, Pride Month is about acceptance and identity, personally. I use the labels aromantic and asexual, and I grew up in a family that didn't really acknowledge either; a brilliant family, but that expected me to find love and get married one day. Not really a possibility for me. Whoops. So, outside my family, I had friends and a community that could support me where they couldn't; I started believing I was less defective, like I could belong somewhere and be myself at the same time.

I fit in with the community I grew up in, more or less, but my own personal experience has seen me try on different labels, fitting my own needs to encompass myself - to be a person without having to compromise positive parts of me. It's not the best metaphor, but it's kind of how I think of it.

Not everyone's had this experience. Some people were shelved wrong entirely. Some were made with the wrong cover. It's complicated, but who we are, who we love, parts of ourself that we want to talk about: this community, especially as this level, shows that we are not alone. Who we are, how far we want to look and label ourselves; it us up to us. And there is support.

And I find that kind of beautiful.

I won't be offended if you don't agree with it. I know; it's different for everyone and sometimes difficult to understand. And, personally, I just don't really care if anyone's offended by the Pride community, as long as we treat each other with respect, right? If you are and you still read this, thank you.

Thanks for reading. Happy Pride, loves <3

From your closet door emerged

Colors of our youth now purged

Into sexual connotations urged

Innocence lost.

Who you are behind your door

Bare-skinned world you implore

Publicly you must explore

At what cost?

In their faces, bewildered youth

God’s creation, altered truth

Implications attached uncouth

Innocence lost

Close your house your room your door

March the public streets no more

Hide yourself, your face, your core

At what cost?

To love all, these colors show

Kindness bound our children grow

Led by youth, world in tow

Probity found.

Our colors never again tainted

Arched across the sky, God painted

One with Him acquainted

Eternity bound.