After the Parade

The parade is over and, once again, I am a pariah in my own "liberal" city.

Every move now carefully calculated to keep me safe.

Don't wear this or that, hide my pronouns badge,

The corporations won't care for another 11 months about us waifs.

Back to feeling uncomfortable in public restrooms.

Eyes darting 360 to check who's there.

Do I fit in? Did I choose the right gender stalls?

This is quickly answered by that woman's stare.

Too feminine for the boy's room,

Too masculine for the girl's,

"Excuse me, do you really think you should be in here?"

I hear as my confidence shrivels and curls.

Public transport feels like Russian roulette,

If you try to be your authentic self.

Better to leave your style on Instagram

Dress "normal" and put your truth on the shelf.

One month a year is all we get

To feel even vaguely safe.

But then the parade is over

And we return to abuse and emotional strafe.