This Pride Month, Verseve is thrilled to showcase a diverse array of poems and poets celebrating the LGBTQ+ community. Explore this page for powerful words on identity, love, and acceptance, shared by incredible voices.
Email contact@gabriellev.art
Subject: Pride 2026 – Pen Name
Contents: Title of poem, Poem, what you want readers to know about your poem.
IF your poem is accepted you will be emailed.
Submissions for pride 2026 end June 30th
My Life, My Story
A True Story of Two Lives, One Truth
“This poem is about my dear friend, Steve, who shared his life story with me. He died of skin cancer at 23. A gifted artist, he painted landscapes and abstract works. This poem also reflects my life—my coming out as a gay man—two true stories, braided together, lived and told as one.”
────────── PRIDE ──────────
Yesterday—long ago,
A silent film flickering,
Lips moving, no sound escaping.
Secrets bloomed like poisonous flowers,
Each petal a lie, each stem a thorned path,
Leading deeper into the dark woods—
Manufactured truths.
Then one day, the dam burst—
Not water, but jagged glass.
Shards of anger hurled, voices cracking,
Screaming accusations,
A torrent of brutal words
Echoing in empty spaces
Where love should have grown.
Hide in that closet—a desperate plea,
Don’t come out.
The mirror is a monster,
Reflecting a truth I can’t face,
Stay hidden—
air thinning around me,
a sculpture of silence,
eyes and mouth sealed.
Swallowing words, swallowing identity,
I bury my story—a weighted anchor
In the dark of mind and heart,
Just trying to survive, the war within my soul.
Mother carried this boy for nine months,
Secrets whispered in the womb,
A bond forged in flesh and bone.
She knows me too well.
“Mother, please—don’t talk.
Don’t tell, Don’t reveal the truth.
Don’t, don’t tell Father…”
Fear coils within me, aserpent guarding
The doorway to freedom.
Exposed.
A choice made, a raw, open wound.
Mother looks away, knowing, not saving me,
A silent scream—betrayal’s bitter taste.
My heart ripped open, truth bleeding.
I hold back tears—a sunburst blinding,
Why mask it with more lies?
I’m gay.
Father—last to know, a contorted face,
Stunned silence, then disappointment,
Then rage.
“Don’t embarrass me,” he spits.
“No son of mine—would be like this”
“You freak.”
“Stand up. Be a real man.”
Cold steel at my temple—the weight of it pressing—
My sisters scream, “Daddy, no!”
Smith & Wesson’s deathly kiss.
“Man—do you want to be dead?”
The question hangs,
Heavy—a poisoned choice.
My mouth—desert dry, a wordless wasteland.
Fear, a vise—tightening at the ribs.
A petrified tree.
Mother’s voice—a fragile thread,
A lifeline thrown,
Now scrambling
To mend
What she herself helped break.
Cold steel retreats—
Slowly, the threat of death fades.
Then every night—
Leather finds my skin—
My body jerks against the blows,
Every scream and cry,
Each blow becomes a deeper mark.
Lashes—raw, brutal,
A captured landscape of pain, a crimson rain
On the ravaged canvas of my back.
Pain eclipses all thought.
My screams caught in my throat.
Whispered cries rise.
Release beckons
From a distant shore.
Suicide?
By day—a mask,
Hidden. Always hidden.
The truth—fragile.
Tears bloom silently on my pillow,
A silent, endless rain.
Swollen eyes betray the storm within.
Emptiness echoes deep in my heart,
it sits beside me, breathing,
a space scraped clean of hope.
I am utterly abandoned.
Hiding— until bruises finally fade,
Red-purple to green-yellow, to light brown—
Finally, disappearing,
A painful history on one side of my face.
People notice,
Whispers follow—
Crows picking at the edges of my shame.
Laughter and sharp teasing
mirror the ache in my bones.
“Yeah, I got an ass-beating.”
A shield that barely holds.
But do they see what I’m hiding?
Do they know the reason shame resides?
Eyes linger, piercing
The fragile lie.
Then a shout—a stone flung—the pretense gone.
“Faggot.”
It sticks—won’t leave,
Seared on my skin the truth,
with echoes sharp and clear.
My secret ripped open, fueled by fear.
“Stay away from us.”
The closet door shatters.
I run— exposed, yet still bound.
Chains remain, locking me inside again.
Free from one prison,
Only to find myself chained in another.
────────── PRIDE ──────────
Grown up now, parental intolerance escaped.
Their choice, not mine,
I cleaved them off like withered branches.
Keys jingle, echoing through a new apartment.
My mirror now reflects no ghost of old expectations.
Acceptance is blossoming in my heart—
Even now, some scars don’t fade.
My compass points true, toward a love I choose,
A warmth I cultivate.
This life. this story, inked by my hand.
And he—
The one I choose and love,
An incredible man—
And I am still learning how to believe it.
I wrote this as an act of witness—first for Steve, then for myself. Two lives, two truths, braided together in memory, pain, and the courage to speak.
What Valdez wants readers to know:
“It is a telling of what it means to live inside a truth that others refuse to name,
to carry a self that must be hidden in order to survive.
What unfolds here is not imagined—it is lived, remembered, endured.
Two lives move through these lines—Steve’s, and my own—
not separate, but intertwined,
braided together by loss, by silence, by the fragile courage it takes to speak at all.
He is not only remembered here—he is kept alive in the telling.
This is a poem about what silence does,
how it presses against the body,
how it teaches fear to speak louder than love.
It is about the ways shame is placed upon us,
until we begin to believe it belongs there.
And still—this is not only a poem of pain.
It is a poem of survival.
Of choosing, again and again, to remain.
Of learning, slowly, to stand inside one’s own name without apology.
If there is any offering here, it is this:
to witness without turning away,
to recognize the cost of being made to hide,
and to understand that love—when it finally comes,
when it is chosen freely—
is not simple.
It is courage.”
THE MASTER’S MASTERPIECE
By Pat Severin
The world must hear, I’ll make it clear,
I’m proud. Oh, yes, I’m proud
to stand up tall and never fall!
I’ll shout it here out loud.!!
The Great Creator planned to make
this world and all that’s in it.
He left the best till last of all.
Two people to begin it.
These two would start to propagate
and give this world a start
so all would know the world would grow.
He made it all by heart.
It’s safe to say He chose to add
some real variety
so everyone is not the same.
Now what fun would that be?
That’s why when some find fault because
we all are not the same,
it’s time to re-evaluate
and think from where they came.
Remember when He started this
and made this great big world?
He looked back at what he made
and said as He observed,
“Yes, this is good, it’s as it should,
I’m proud of what I’ve made.
And more than that, it seems to me,
there’s not a one I’d trade.”
The way we are is by design,
a rainbow tapestry.
Each one’s unique, babe to antique,
the Master’s masterpiece!
What Pat wants readers to know:
“This poem, THE MASTER’S MASTERY, is written to show that who we are is
how we were created. Each of us is devinely unique, exactly how we were
meant to be. We all make up the tapestry of this world and as such
deserve to be included and accepted for who we are.”
The initial relationship with "him" feels artificial, a "movie scene" forced by external pressures, hinting at the quiet struggle and "sins" confessed in the dark by someone unable to be their true self.
However, the poem powerfully shifts with "her." Here, the connection is raw, authentic, and deep, symbolizing a journey of self-discovery
The way she's described ("mapping freckles like constellations") shows a wide, open future full of joy and real possibility. It's a strong story about finding yourself and truly loving who you are.
-Gabrielle V
Whether years of hardening
Impeded on my ability to love
Depended on numerous factors
You brought out the softer side
Parts of me that welcomed
Affection, parts of me that
Actually felt comfortable
In the embrace of another
Wanted the memoirs of our
Trip to Brighton Beach
To remain in print, but
Alas, the ink ran into
The Atlantic Ocean
And I am once again
Feeling my arteries
Clog, whether
Blockages within
Or the feeling
You gave my skin
As if follicles could
Dance like the Dutch
I wish to find another who
Can find the softer side of me
Reclining upon my shoulder
Embracing me like a teddy bear
Rendering me a pillow upon which
All these dreams are captured
"I think "Softer Side" is a really touching poem. I feel it's about how someone's heart opened up because of a past love, but then that softness got lost. To me, it feels like it shows the good feeling of being close and then the sadness when that's gone. In the end, I think it's a hopeful poem about wanting to find that gentle feeling again with someone new."
-Gabrielle V
My Body is a cocoon hiding my true self,
Protecting my truth from the harshness outside.
Born in a body that doesn’t match my soul,
A war within for who will control
The outside tells me one thing, the inside another
Conflict ensues, dreams and nightmares follow
In private moments your true self shines
In public, you conform without batting an eye
The protective shell cracks, you test the waters
Digital freedom allows your true self to enter
You find kindred souls, trapped in their own prisons
Looking like you, for their strength to emerge
One day, the chrysalis crumbles,
Your true, beautiful colors shining for the world
As you view your new world in awe and wonder
You soon realize you are not alone after all
IG: kennethwalk_04
"I think this is a strong poem that uses a butterfly's journey from its "cocoon" to show a brave fight. To me, it feels like it's about a person's real self that feels stuck inside their body. The poem beautifully tells the story of finding your true self, feeling free, and finding friends who understand you. Indeed we are not alone after all."
-Gabrielle V
A special "sea burial" acts as a ritual to let go of the past, leading to the hopeful moment when the person truly becomes who they were born to be.
- Gabrielle V
I use my voice now
before It Is taken from me
because what am I
In the story of our American dystopia?
there’s no hiding
I’ve contributed
to the algorithms
there’s no privacy for who
I am
but If It was offered
I like to think
I would refuse to hide
I like to think that I lived so long In the closet that
I tore the door off Its hinges
what am I though
here
raising my voice
a single mother
how strong Is my
right to hold my child In my arms?
how long before that too
Is broken?
What am I In the story of our American dystopia?
The queer mother
the queer woman
all of these words seem torn from his playbook for
2025
my Identity answers the question of
who should be destroyed
second
or third
after the trans people
after the people of color
next comes the destruction of
the rebellious uterus
In his world my voice
Is not wanted
It Is a thing to be exterminated
and I
am all voice
there Is no compliance left In me
not even to keep myself alive
life support Is not enough
to make me want to live
I always said
If I was trapped In my own body
to overdose me
to spare me the pain
of a living death
so I fight now
I fight before my voice Is taken
I fight and hope that others will hear me
here In America
to know you are not alone
to those outside of It
know: we do not all want to make America a great power
used for great destruction
some of us
many of us
perhaps
even most of us
desire to create
to offer kindness
to push back against cruelty
to make this broken
place
beautiful again.
@wordyanddirty on Instagram
@wordyanddirty.bsky.social on BlueSky
"I think this poem is a really strong and urgent shout-out. I feel it's about a person fighting hard to use their voice and be their true self, especially when the world feels tough and unfair. To me, it clearly shows how important it is to speak up and how, by doing so, we can connect with others and hope to make things better, even in a broken place."
-Gabrielle V
