PRIDE

Glitter glides through all of New York City

as colorful bodies swallow up the streets, turning pavement to pink

The impact of their melodic stomping represents me and my hidden glitter

yet, it seems as if there is no way I can fit into this dance of pride

to match their cosmic stride

This rhythm they so easily possess—allowing it to take them like a calling—

I watch with confusion, excitement, and expansion

question marks like triggered inspiration looming through my pupils and onto the city streets

and its melodic, sparkling, grand, creative chaos, calling me to be more,

echoing through the humid air, like a river meandering into itself

My eyes scan the place looking for a space to slip into

a space tiny enough, yet spacious enough, for me to join in

to feel proud,

to not be a bystander to an event where people celebrate me

a bystander to my own party

drinking the party from the shadows

I wish to be so involved in my own experience of laughter and dancing that I am not always observing…

or am I criticizing my current way of being, way, way too much?