Thomas Charles Henry

Pride

It’s not the parade,
or the rainbow-coloured flags.

It’s not the wilful defiance
of those who hate:
who call us homos, dykes, or fags.

It’s not the drag queens, the pageantry,
the scandalously provocative clothes.

It’s not your gender:
the one at birth,
or the one you later chose.

It’s your fearless hand in mine,
walking down the street.

It’s your tired head,
resting on my shoulder.
Not hiding.
Not discreet.

It’s my family and friends
accepting there will be no children or bride.

It’s simply you:
My dreams
My joy
My world
My love.

You.

You are my Pride.

Written in response to Friday Fictioneers, a weekly 100-word writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Come and play along!