A PRIDE ISN’T JUST A BUNCH OF PUSSIES

but my friends and I have lived a hundred years from 

Cornish, Maine to Orlando, Florida with one set of parents, then three 

dear brothers who drop out with Big Sister Syndrome 

every one fooling their mothers into parading them 

forgoing their daughters; teachers, healthcare workers, research technicians–

girls who’ve been kicked out for kissing girls brave 

hell so Moms could come to terms with themselves 

insist on punishing daughters whose pride they envy 

jesus, my friends and I have lived a hundred years 

kaleidoscoped around breakups and breakthroughs and outbreaks 

lost Barbies, Polly Pockets, American Girl Dolls, America’s Next Top 

Model, survived Weight Watchers, high school, freshman fifteen, 

numerous pandemic eating disorders, Mount Everest 

oxygen, enjoyed senior week wine tastings, new cities, 

Pittsburgh Pride drag 

queen-Billy-Porter-in-a-convertible, grateful-to-be-alive pride 

reaching-for-each-other-in-the-crowd, sweating-off-our-glitter 

streamers-wrapped-around-the-bridge, warming-our-way-through-a 

three-mile-parade, drinking-in-a-hot-apartment-before-Rocky-Horror 

unbridled-joy 

volume all the way up & sunroof open like we’re emma watson 

wallflowers with our hair tangled and our corsets tight time traveling 

except my friends and I haven’t even lived 

yet