Tiny Dancers in a World of PRIDE

Tiny dancers trickle down

Thin, lean, muscular vaulting

Under bony arms that tremble.

Sidelines, I sit, and watch

them under glass of stained sweat.

They try to kiss,

Hug, even,

Red for endured violence,

Orange for bystander apathy

Yellow for HIV-positives

Green for nature’s poison

Blue for tears

and Purple, for me, who stands and watches.

Tiny dancers who leap and abound

Graceful even under the duress of colors

and I can sit and do nothing

except wait for a moment to strike

out with Courage to speak up—speak out

Come out.

Did I stutter?

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

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