Our Victory Song

Happy Pride!



I want to write sweet words to you. Serenade your soul so that it’ll dance with mine. Hold my waist and twirl me around a ballroom like I used to imagine when I was seven and my mother sighed and told me I couldn’t wear a dress to school. That seven year old girl didn’t know the difference between loving a man or a woman. She liked both the smell of cologne and the thought of tucking the stem of a rose behind a woman’s ear. Short hair, long hair; cuff-links, lace trim; oxfords, heels; I know the difference, but not why it matters? So much of my identity depends on me acting like everything I wanted isn’t still what I dream about when I allow myself to be the whimsical, idealistic girl whose heart beats for life and not just survival. But I don’t want to be angry and…

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