Because the world needed someone
who could stitch grief into gold,
who could turn breath into sanctuary,
who could write love
so wide
it holds even the broken parts.

Because your voice
remembers the ones who came before,
and your poems make room for the ones still arriving.

Because healing isn’t loud,
it’s quiet,
like a hand on a shoulder,
like a whisper that says:

You are worthy.
You are whole.
And here,
You are held.

Because Pride is not just a parade,
it’s a promise,
a protest,
a prayer.

It’s the child who asks “Why me?”
when the world turns cold,
and the elder who answers,
Because you are the flame
we refused to let go out.

It’s the shimmer of sequins
and the silence of scars,
the chosen family
and the first time someone says,
I see you.
I love you.
Stay.

Because “Why me?”
is the question of every soul
who’s ever been told
they were too much,
or not enough.

And the answer is always:

Because you are the song
we didn’t know we needed
until you sang it.

Because you are the colour
in a world that tried to stay grey.

Because you are the truth
in a world that tried to forget.

Because you are here,
and that,
in itself,
is a revolution.