It Gets Better

It gets better, if you can make it
It gets better if you can get into a uni far, far away
It gets better when you can sneak into queer clubs, bright eyed and terrified
It gets better at your first pride where you don’t march but quietly stand on the side
It gets better when you’re hungover at a strangers house and someone suggests a boozy Drag brunch
It gets better the first time you’re hate crimed and realize you have friends to call because you can’t call your parents
It gets better when you stop going home for Christmas but still have a home to go to
It gets better when you spend June loud and proud in a hot pink mesh top
It gets better when you love someone and finally they love you back
It gets better when you find a partner, or three, who love you as you are
It gets better when the bombastic queer binges settle into mundane movie nights and a sober, planned brunch
It gets better when you plan for a future and remember when you couldn’t see a life past 18
It gets better when you see a baby gay at the club and welcome them with sweaty open arms
It gets better when that baby gay is in trouble and you’re the one they call because they can’t call their parents
It gets better when your home becomes the spot for Christmas when the baby gays stop going home
It gets better when you wince at being called a ‘Queer Elder’

You will look sadly at a childhood version of yourself, knowing you can’t go rescue them. Any olive branch will be labeled as coercion, contagion, leave the children alone!
It gets better but first you have to make your own way out.
It gets better, if you can make it to us.