Straight PrideA Poem by Glen Thompson
Last year, I attended my very first pride
there were so many people, and I was happy to go along with the ride. It was wild being around people so openly queer, and it was an overall good experience for my very first year. But as the days progressed and it got later and later, the downfallen looks on my peers' faces got greater and greater. People hid their faces as we threw our flags into the trash and struggled to get rid of any proof of faggotry, their movements harsh and rash. Boys both young and old went in the bathrooms and took off their binders, applied makeup as they looked in the mirror and desperately tried to find her, the girl they left behind long ago but now they have to be here ago, two years in the past they must forego. Girls both young and old cried as the mascara and foundation ran down their faces, their skin red and raw as they rubbed the proof of themselves, making sure they covered all the bases. They forced themselves to go back to being a boy, with their de-transformation they felt a dwindling joy. Gay boys and girls and all else held tightly to their purses and bags, turning away from angry faces and angry voices as they got called f**s. Bisexuals, pansexuals, asexuals, and all the other "fake" sexuality are told to stop being dramatic, pick a side, face the reality. For a few hours, 12 at the very most, queer people are allowed to celebrate our freedom, to feel pride and boast. One day a year, we celebrate who we are, and at the end of the 24 hours, to our happiness and freedom we'll say "Au reviour!" Yet straight people want to celebrate the fact that they have always been straight. The fact that they have always had humans rights. But for us, the ones who are queer, we get to celebrate for only one night. They? They have eternity of being free, and I still have to worry about being killed for being me.
© 2017 Glen ThompsonFeatured Review
Reviews
|
StatsAuthor
|