Pride

The soil makes no demands upon the seed,

it does not dictate what the seed must breed.

It simply holds, and feeds, and lets it go,

to find the light it needs to grow.

In one quiet corner, a vibrant blend resides,

where pink Foxgloves stand along the mountain sides.

Their bells softly bob above Violets cradled deep,

while blue Lupines sway above where hidden creatures sleep.

Three distinct shades, yet woven in one vine,

a proud, bisexual tapestry by design.

Beside them, patient Hydrangeas have grown,

their colors sleeping softly in the loam

of earth and root where shifting soil below

reveals the shades they always were meant to show.

Blue gives way to pink, and pink to white,

not born anew, but stepping into the light.

Every blossom knows before it begins,

transformation always comes from within.

And out across the meadow, wide and free,

a proud chorus of diversity.

Red poppies burn, and gold marigolds flare,

while greens and indigoes flourish everywhere.

A rainbow stretching wide across the clay,

where every petal has a word to say.

For no wild blossom asks for an excuse

to wear its brilliant, natural hues.

The garden triumphs when the fences fall—

the world is beautiful when blooming for all.

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This poem celebrates LGBTQ+ pride, both during Pride Month and throughout the year. Though some may try to fence us in, silence us, or deny our place in the world, we continue to grow, bloom, and thrive.

Our ways of loving are not an impurity, nor something that needs to be fixed, hidden, or forgiven. We are here. We are queer. And we're not going anywhere. 

The flowers in this garden represent the many identities, experiences, and ways of loving that make up our community. Like every wild blossom, we deserve the freedom to grow, to bloom, and to live openly as ourselves.

As a member of the LGBTQ+, I am proud of who I am, proud of my community, and proud of the generations who fought for us to stand in the sunlight today.

Happy Pride! 🌈