Flying High

I Grew up stuck in between,  

Questioning if it is  easier to explain my sexuality  

Or pretend to fit into your box of expectations.

I stood at a standstill, facing two crossroads: 

One a lie, that would buy me my safety.  

One a truth that could get me killed.  

I grew up supporting my queer friends, as an ally.

I went home without the same support,  

Framed as a poser, 

I would get painted a pretty picture, labeled as ally, 

NOT a member of the community. 

Questions and judgments flooding my mind:  

“What is your label?” 

“What team are you?” 

“Well, you don’t seem gay” 

I grew up in the in-between.  

But today, I am proud.  

My flag–  Pink, Yellow and blue— 

Flies high with all its wrinkles. 

Each wrinkle giving a middle finger. 

Each wrinkle a stand against 

Anyone who makes you feel like you have to hide. 

A wrinkle for anyone who makes you feel like you are just confused about who you are.

A middle finger to shame.

You are beautiful and true,

No matter how many wrinkles you have gained,                                      

Fighting so you can fly your flag free.