the morning after the pride parade

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

when the flags return to the wall
and your head aches for water
and the coffee can’t brew fast enough
may the photos you’re tagged in
show you in that good light
the kind of light that lets you
see yourself, really see yourself
through the eyes of you
at twelve years old, who
(oh, if only you knew)
would think “wow wow wow
they are so cool. so them. so everything-
i-wanna-be-but-don’t-know-if-i’m-allowed-yet”
that good light that’s so damn allowed
because you crowbarred the hinges off a
closet that couldn’t contain it sort of light.
remember. our ancestors
didn’t just die for this.
they lived for it:
this stained glass chapel
to house our sacred hearts.
this is the sort of beauty that’s bled for
with broken glass and fist and brick.
centuries of fight and flamboyance
fierce and fab, a found ancestry of us
and our friends between and through
revolutions around the sun.
even when pride
comes to an end
we never will.