Isabella Denman

Pride

By: Isabella Denman

It wasn’t stitched onto a flag at first

or shouted in parades down painted streets.

It was whispered

like a child whispering their own name

in the dark,

just to see if it fits.

It was borrowed sweaters in locker rooms

changing in silence,

the terror of touch

the miracle of it too.

It was love,

a hide and seek heart

that never quite got found.

It was praying without knowing

if anyone was listening

because hope doesn’t wait for permission.

Pride is not loud by nature—

it learned to be.

It only grew teeth when it had to.

However, don’t you dare think

Pride is only scars.

It’s laughter so full,

hands held in public,

a name spoken without flinching.

Pride is a protest

but it’s also a lullaby.

It’s dancing barefoot in your first apartment.

It’s crying over someone who finally calls you by the right name

It is fire

It is family

It is finally

Author’s Note:  Something that I believe is one of my biggest truths about writing is that vulnerability matters, and although something can be quiet or small, it can be powerful. I was inspired by the idea of how Pride never starts boisterous, that it sometimes starts softly or frighteningly but just as legitimate. I've always wanted to write about the very personal feelings of Pride, like those moments right before one finally feels fully safe to just be themselves. This poem is near and dear to my own heart, and it was a painful but restorative time creating it.