Pride was never meant to be comfortable. It was meant to be revolutionary. We may not be marching this year, but we are still protesting—with our voices, our words, and our refusal to be silent. Because Pride is not a parade. It’s a fight for visibility, justice, and truth.
Tag Archives: #flashfiction
In Defense of Modern Poetry.
Modern poetry is not the death of poetry. It’s the mirror. Queer and trans poets like Danez Smith, Joshua Jennifer Espinoza, and Jayy Dodd write their bodies back into the world. Indigenous poets like Natalie Diaz, Selina Boan, and Craig Santos Perez speak their languages across page and performance. This isn’t poetry’s decline — it’s its expansion. To say otherwise is to mistake tradition for stagnation.
A New Alphabet
A New Alphabet
We’ve shouted. We’ve wept. We’ve raged.
Today, just this.
A quieter offering.
A different kind of language.
Aaron Bushnell
A second-person reflection honouring the clarity and courage of Aaron Bushnell—an active-duty U.S. Airman who set himself on fire in protest of the genocide in Gaza. This piece is not comfort. It is memory.
The Journalists are Saying Goodbye.
Halfway around the world, the journalists are saying goodbye — not with press releases, but with poetry, final voice notes, and aching goodbyes to a world that barely listened. This piece holds the names and words of those still documenting genocide with nothing but a camera and a heartbeat. It is not a tribute. It is a witness.
Woman in Two Parts
A poem in two voices, two bodies, and one shared inheritance.
Woman in Two Parts explores identity beyond binaries—through violence, transition, reclamation, and radical self-love.
Where one part breaks, the other rebuilds.
Where one erases, the other remembers.
Together, they ask: what remains of “woman” when the world tries to define her for you?
Xquity™
“Turns out gills work. You’re welcome.”
In a world where the rich breathe easy underwater and the rest are left gasping above, a rogue tech designer, a sanctimonious ex, and a sarcastic borg might be the last hope for redemption. Corporate theology, biotech betrayal, and underwater rebellion collide in Breathing Is For Closers.
Tick Tock
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. But Evangeline did. Now the house speaks in riddles and the clock runs in reverse. Her fate was sealed long before the latch clicked. Tick. Tock. Tock. Tick. Some doors don’t open — they consume.
You Called It Glory. It Was Just Death.
When war scorched the earth and the gods could no longer bear to watch, the sun itself turned away.
This speculative short story weaves a brutal, mythic tale of violence, divine reckoning, and the collapse of honor on the battlefield.
As brothers fall and the world darkens, only silence — and surrender — remain.
What happens when even the sky says: enough?
Kulak Değil, Kalp Gerek
She arrived on the knife’s edge of a summer storm, the sea crashing against the rocks like it remembered her. The mountain cottage stood quiet, holding its breath. Inside, only dust and memory stirred—until she found it: the conch, waiting on the table where her grandmother once sat. And when it spoke, it did not speak in words alone, but in whispers layered with voices, salt, and time.
Now, Ilayda walks through the ruins of tradition and tourism, past the shouts and spilled beer, her grandmother’s voice pulsing faintly from the shell.
“Kulak değil, kalp gerek.”
Not the ear, but the heart is needed.
