Show up in Sequins - or don’t

It’s late.

Or…early.

Mascara-smudged-eyes blink and

recalibrate.

Vibrant heeled boots - long discarded

wait by the door,

Hopeful for their next outing,

Put away,

likely for another year.

Messy nights with rainbow-ed endings;

Wild sequins falling

Like hundreds and thousands,

Coloured sprinkles on ice cream toppings,

Giggled celebrations spill over,

Cocktails splashing,

bubbles

evaporate,

On to the next thing.

And you’re left wanting more.

Lipstick kisses,

Spotlights flicker,

hum and dim,

and breathy choices fog up glass.

Morning comes,

And the rainbow gets folded and put away

Carefully wrapped in glitter dust, and tissue papered conversations,

Fragile and earth shattering,

Shards of sugared glass pepper the living room floor,

And we go carefully as we tread.

Ghostly colours dance across flashbacks,

hangover-ed heads swim and blur.

You wash your face in the dimly lit bathroom hue

And you’re left treading salt-water tears,

Of joy and relief and sombre come downs,

Time taking the edge off,

as memories drift away across political waves.

A stranger in your favourite shoes,

Reflections refusing to adjust,

Novelty beginning to wear thin,

But you rise again,

Hopeful and empowered

On the other side of that fence now,

One you never intended to be on,

The world looks different from here,

But everyone else seems to be wondering around like nothing’s changed?

Old journeys once trodden,

Lead to new ones,

here, today,

Steps are re-tread.

This road looks like all the other times,

Familiarly crafted gravel,

How to take that first step,

When it feels somehow strange

and raw.

Preparing for battles across mind-fields,

As we all try to keep up with

doing a little better,

Each day.

Movements are created in the small moments that collect.

Intricately weaved together,

Painted and written on parchment,

Or twitter,

strung out to dry as history is etched into the fabric of riots and marches

In the years before

and years to come.

Looking around it can feel like

Progression wears an invisibility cloak,

Sometimes.

But the conversation has been ignited again,

In texts with toxic exes,

Politically-opposing family members

And past friends who live differently to you.

Sentence by sentence, slowly,

Equality infiltrates,

You take a break

Which you’re entitled to do,

But progression doesn’t wait

So you’d better be prepared

To get back out there

And throw your own parade.

You decide the guest list.

The performers

The music

The message.

The world carries on,

And so do you.

And in a flash,

she’s dancing through strobe lights,

Silken hair matts together

As we twirl across the floor

Soft hands barely graze or touch,

Excitement fizzing,

Eyes lock, then smile, then look back down, then up…

where creased, angry faces glare.

Not quite sure of where to go from here,

But,

you have a responsibility,

So,

After the parade,

A new perspective peeks through,

Reminded of why we celebrate

And protest

Still.

You begin to catch a new understanding,

From a film you watch

‘just that once more’.

You are worthy

You are worthy

You are worthy

And your worth is not measured in a thousand golden sequins,

Or drag brunches

Or whether you walk in the parade

Or watch

Or don’t attend at all.

We all have the right to love

Freely.

And so after the parade…

You show up.

With all that you are.

All that you can be.

Ready to write your next chapter.

And choose love.

Every time.