post-pride-depression

the leftover cake,

crumbly and dry,

is tough to swallow.

like a hard truth,

i need something

to water it down.

i dig in with a fork,

eager to enjoy,

what my friends and i made.

the rainbow frosting - hardened,

a result of its environment.

the top layer cracks

and then it breaks,

under the weight of my fork.

flouting convention,

by setting the fork aside,

i poke the surface with my finger,

leaving a little crater.

it’s amazing how things can change in such a short time.

i pick up the slice eagerly,

hoping it will taste as sweet,

an attempt to recreate,

but my expectations are too high,

quickly i’m reminded,

some things are better

left as they were.

in the wake of Pride, loneliness swells.

i find it easy to be inspired

on behalf of others.

it’s easy to stand out

when others stand beside,

our clothes and our eyes,

speaking our most controversial truths.

enough cake for now.

i step out to get a coffee,

today i’ll try a new cafe,

i bravely decide

but i don’t wear any rainbows

because today i’m feeling beige

i don’t fly my flags

because i’m not feeling that brave.

it’s just a coffee, right?

and just like that i wonder: am i doing all i can?

superhero movies show me:

burning buildings,

earth shattering dilemma,

a clear division

right / wrong

lives on the line,

impossible choices

ultimate heroes

in times of dire crisis.

but - what about the office place?

“Marvel” didn’t teach me

how to be a hero

in daily morning meetings.

people use pronouns,

unaware of their sting

the slap to my cheek

at the grocery store

i’m told i’m a ma’am

because i look like a woman

and everything is binary - right?

Pride is a moment,

a temporary respite,

a time where i’m trans

because i’m safe to be me.

it’s easy to be brave around people living out and proud.

at Pride, it’s easy to be proud.

coffee in one hand,

groceries in the other,

i walk home and ponder

the truth of it all

as difficult as it is

to swallow that dry cake,

i’m thankful to taste it

to understand

the sadness is as important

as the celebration is.

the post-Pride depression

may weigh my shoulders down

and i think it’s okay.

So, i eat my cake while tears freely flow.

it’s grief for all of the lives spent fighting for fairness.

a heavy heart for the persecution endured

so that i could eat this cake

with my friends,

my loved ones,

my chosen family,

and individually,

so i could celebrate a part of me - safely.

i close my eyes to remember

what felt like a dream

people all around me

simply being free

and unafraid like me

because that’s Pride.

it’s a memory that becomes tangible

the second i recall

a song i heard

during the parade

plays back in my mind

and i begin to think: it’s the little things we all need to go on day by day.

the notes cut through the mundane

i open my eyes

unlock my phone

find the song

then excitedly press play.

for a moment i am seen,

for a moment i feel safe,

for a moment i have something

no lawmaker can take from me.

with some flour, vanilla, and courage,

i made something,

that means something.

it’s Pride that soothes my soul.

when the dust settles

i’m left alone

i retreat

to the safe little space

tucked away

in a corner of my mind

the dust settles

and i remain - intact.

bits of crumb

coat my lips

i’m thankful for the remnants

and cling to all those little things

that bring me meaning

i’ve made it this far

and can make it from here

until next year

because life is

a series of moments

little ones and big ones

and all the ones in between

it’s not binary - at least not for me.