Youth Voices Writing Contest
In its second year, Seattle Pride's Youth Voices Writing Contest continued to embody the organization's commitment to youth programming and the transformative power of the arts. This year's theme, "Louder," served as an invitation for LGBTQIA2S+ youth to share their truths boldly and unapologetically: a particularly vital call during a time when young queer voices face increasing challenges and restrictions across the country.
Thirty-three young writers, ages 13 to 18, answered that call with remarkable courage, submitting 49 pieces that responded to the "Louder" theme with bravery and vision. In their words, we not only hear their stories but also see glimpses of the world they are determined to build. These youth remind us that the future of our community is in powerful hands.
The winners, who received cash prizes, Seattle Pride merchandise, tickets to the 5th Avenue Theater, and Lil Woody's gift certificates, represent a generation refusing to be silenced.
1st Place Poetry
Stone Eater
By Nikolas Wright
I swallowed a stone when I was a child.
It was big,
Sharp,
And heavy.
Every time I breathed it would sink a little further into my chest and block my airway. I remember the moment I swallowed it,
It was also the moment I became an actor.
“I don’t think I am a girl,”
In one hand I held bravery,
And in the other I held a sippy cup.
And that was the last time I was honest for years.
The stone seemed to get a little bit bigger sometimes,
When I was told I couldn’t buzz my hair off,
When I was asked if I were a boy or a girl and I had to lie.
I will pretend it doesn’t hurt,
And if I could,
I would pretend it never happened.
But the silence still remains stitched into them hem of the clothes my grandma holds onto, “Just in case.”
And it comes out in an embarrassed whisper when I’m asked why I talk like a girl. The biggest I remember the stone being was at the state fair bathrooms, After I started presenting as male.
My knees pressed to my chest,
My back dripping with sweat,
I prayed,
My words slurred,
I stopped asking to live,
But just that they wouldn’t call me a girl in my obituary.
I stopped asking that the man with the anger would leave,
But just that he would stop yelling that word,
A word I refuse to say.
I survived it,
And I didnt tell a soul.
I left that bathroom enlightened,
I learned that men don’t cry,
Men don’t feel.
And I was going to be a man.
I punched walls,
I fought,
I broke my nose,
I cleaned it up myself,
I spat red into the sink,
I watched it trickle down the drain,
I pretended my plans were long term,
And I didn’t tell anyone.
Boyhood was built on silence.
One day I woke up early,
And I put my running shoes on.
I laced them up the same way I learned in elementary school. I went to Seattle,
And I saw a woman praying to god to be protected from the trans kids. The kids like me.
I remember that being the moment I got rid of the stone. It was also the moment I abandoned my lifelong acting career. Pretending to be a girl,
Pretending to be a cis boy,
Pretending to be someone not afraid of his own skin.
It was never on me.
They will pray to be protected,
They will pray that we will stay quiet,
They will pray that we will hide,
I will pray that they will learn better.
My boyhood was built on silence;
But my manhood will not be.
1st Place Prose
Flux
By Sky Hsi
I. September 17, 2017
2017 was quiet. Not “peaceful,” but the kind of quiet that comes right before something starts—the silence before a song, the waiting before the spark. On September 17th, 2017, I figured it out. Who I was. Not some movie scene with mirrors and tears, but a moment. A knowing. Like looking down and realizing your name has already been etched into your bones. Not the name they used. The one that was always there. The one I hadn’t had the guts to say aloud yet.
I didn’t do anything with it at first. It was just... there. A glowing ember in my chest. Not burning. Not shouting. Just existing. Waiting.
II. 2018 – Subtle Rebellion
I started small. Painted nails. Pastels. Soft, feminine-coded shades. Nothing too obvious, but visible to the trained eye.
But I knew. Every stroke of polish, every soft hoodie, every hint of color instead of camouflage—it was a rebellion. A whisper to the world that I wasn’t who they thought I was. I wasn’t who they told me to be. They didn’t call it anything, but I did. I called it freedom. Even if I still looked like what they expected, I wasn’t. Not anymore.
III. 2019 – Learning the Language
Books became my world. I hunted down anything I could find about being genderfluid, about dysphoria, about surviving in a body that I didn’t choose.
I started prepping for puberty like it was a battle. Not one I asked for, but one I knew I had to fight. Understanding myself wasn’t a luxury. It was survival.
And slowly, the idea of flux—of gender as movement, not something fixed—started to make sense. It was my truth.
IV. 2020 – Shut down, but Not Silent
When COVID hit, the world shut down. But me? I started waking up.
No classrooms. No hallways. No forced masculine clothes. No one to watch my every move. I could just… be.
I stopped dressing for them. I started dressing for myself. Some days were more femme, some days less. When my gender hit the extreme, I let it show. I didn’t hide it. The shifts didn’t hurt, they revealed something. They revealed parts of me I didn’t even know were there.
My room became my sanctuary. My clothes, my armor. My body, my battleground. But I never stopped showing up. Not once.
V. 2021 – Pride, Finally
Nothing much happened that year—until everything did.
June 26th. Virtual Pride on Hopin. A gathering of queer people from all over Seattle. And me—finally me. I chose my name, my pronouns, my truth. I didn’t destroy the old me. I edited it—made it mine.
The euphoria hit like sunlight. Like breathing after holding my breath for years. I was out, if only online. Still not at school. Still not at home. But out. Out in the world, in the space I carved for myself. For the first time in forever, I felt loud. Not in volume. In truth.
VI. 2022 – The Weight
Seventh grade came in like a storm. Unannounced. Taking over everything.
I was still me—but quieter. Heavier.
Not silent. Not hiding. Just… carrying more.
Some days, it felt like I could still breathe—like I could pull color from my notebooks, keep holding onto that last bit of light.
But depression doesn’t knock. It creeps in. Slowly. Like water seeping through the cracks in a wall. You don’t feel it until your feet are already wet. Your shoes stained, colors fading.
But I still had my notebooks. I still had clothes tucked in drawers. I still knew who I was, even when nothing felt good. That mattered.
That saved me.
Sometimes, all I could do was hold the line. Not moving forward. Not glowing. Just staying. I just kept being me, even when the world felt gray, and my chest felt like it was closing in. It didn’t erase me. Depression tried. But it failed. Because even when I felt nothing, I never stopped being me.
VII. 2023 – Little Victories, Big Joy
I remember the day I found them.
Concert blacks, from Goodwill.
Women’s. Feminine cut. My size.
I put them on and for a second—just a second, I forgot about the names I wasn’t. Forgot the wrongness, the classrooms, the weight.
They fit like a promise.
Like I’d crossed into some version of myself I only saw in dreams.
They lasted a month. Bodies change. That’s life.
But the lesson stayed: size up. Know your numbers. Know your power.
It wasn’t just a thrift store purchase.
It was proof. I was getting closer.
To them—because even on my softest days, my fluid days, I know exactly who I am. No blurriness. Only motion. Motion is not confusion. It’s freedom that won’t be boxed in.
That day, I looked in the mirror and saw not “passing.” Not performance. Just… truth in fabric.
VIII. 2024 – Doors, Detours, and Voices
Freshman year, I tried the girls' bathroom. Just once.
It didn’t go well.
Eyes. Whispers. That sharp feeling like I was intruding. Like I had done something wrong by walking through a door.
After that, I stuck to the gender-neutral bathrooms—when they weren’t locked.
A lot of the time, they were.
Locked because of vaping. Locked because of rules. Locked because someone thought it was easier to punish everyone than deal with what’s really broken.
But then something happened.
Voices started rising.
Not just mine—ours. Queer voices. Loud, relentless, brilliant. Students started pushing the admins, day after day, about those locked doors. About the message it sent. About kids like me being erased by inconvenience.
We even put up bathroom art. Real stories. Little posters explaining what it means when a door that’s supposed to be safe becomes just another wall. Some got torn down. Some stayed. But people saw. People knew.
It’s not over. There are still days where I don’t feel seen. Still names that don’t fit in other people’s mouths. Still looks that sting.
But it’s not because I’m a ghost. It’s a costume I never asked to wear. A version of me the world made up without permission.
And every time I walk the halls in that false skin, I feel the edges peel back—because now, we’re changing things. We’re showing up, showing out, and breaking that story wide open.
IX. 2025 – The Becoming
2025. I’m not just existing anymore. I’m shaping.
I joined Queer Voices—our school’s loud, unapologetic LGBTQ+ activism club. It’s a call to action. It’s joy, yes, but also a relentless push against the silence that tries to swallow us. We’re not just here. We’re rising. We’re going to break every door, shatter every wall, and when they try to lock us out? We’ll make them hear us.
My identity—it’s not a secret anymore.
Not in the halls. Not in my heart.
We’ve got big plans—visibility events, fundraisers, education. Making space where there wasn’t space before. Not just existing, but building. Not just surviving, but shaping.
And recently, on April 25, 2025, I had my first femme concert day.
Feminine outfit. Black attire. A stage. A moment.
It went well. I showed up. I was true to myself. And nobody cared. I was just me. But I do know one thing: this will be happening a lot more in the future.
And I’ll walk out in front of the audience wearing more than just fabric.
I’ll be wearing becoming—not just as fabric, but as my future—a truth in progress.
X. The Pulse
I used to think being genderfluid meant always shifting, never landing. That I’d always be floating—never seen, never still.
But now I know—flux isn’t confusion. It’s clarity in motion.
It’s walking into a room that wasn’t built for you and leaving your shape in it anyway. It’s not about saying no to the world’s wrong version of me.
It’s about saying yes to the truest one.
It’s a heartbeat.
And it’s mine.
And when the world says I don’t exist?
I say, watch me.
2nd Place Poem
Louder
By I. Grover
The world needs more loud people
No, not the ones who scream and shout
Not the ones who cry for attention
Not the ones that drown other voices out
We need more people who do loudly
Who’s every action is a protest of what they see
And every idea is a beautiful dream
Of what they could make this world to be
People who love louder
Than those who say that it’s wrong
People who sing louder
Than those trying to silence their song.
People who are kind louder
Than the many, many who are mean
People who are themselves louder
Who say “this is who I am, I am me”
So in this time of strangeness
Of danger and fear and uncertainty
Listen for those who are louder
And join in the cacophony
Everything you do, do it louder
Don’t worry about who will see
Because if you’re loud enough
Others will be themselves, loudly
For those who love, or those who are
In ways that they don't like to see us be
Whatever you do, do it with excellence
And always do it LOUDLY!
2nd Place Prose
What is pride to me?
By Lucielle Reinike
What is pride to me? For me pride is accepting yourself and those around you. It’s
acknowledging that you are who you are, you love who you love. It’s accepting that you are
unique, that not everyone is like you or will understand how you feel. It’s acknowledging
that fact and moving on. The willingness to open yourself to others and show your true self,
even if you’re not fully accepted by everyone. Many others will accept you and love you for
your true self. And all you can do then is hope that the eyes of the ignorant will one day
open to the truth of the world. The truth that is yours, and theirs. And is both the same and
different for all beings. For we are all the same. No matter race, gender, sexuality or
species. We all are born. We grow, we experience and we feel. We love, we laugh, we cry
and we feel pain. We live our lives the best we can, making mistakes along the way. And
then we die. And it’s all gone. Our souls are no longer, and our bodies are dealt with
depending on us. So what is it we leave behind on this earth after everything is said and
done? It’s the experiences we endured during our time with the living. It’s the energy we
leave behind. The feelings of acceptance. Or the feelings of discrimination. So that’s what
it is. That is pride. It’s showing your truth. Because if everyone shows their truth. And even
if you don’t understand the truth of another, if you open your arms to them then all that is
left is acceptance, hope, and peace.
3rd Place Poem
The Government Wants Me Dead
By Corvin Parry
The government wants me dead
(they say I’m gay, weird, wrong)
Because I don’t fit.
(So I will be gay, weird, right)
The government is trying to kill me
And I don’t get a say
Because I am “too young”.
So I go to school.
I get on the bus and pretend I’m not terrified
(for my friends, my family, my future)
I walk into class as if I'm not rehearsing my options
(Plan A, plan B, plan C)
I sit at lunch and act like I’m not prepared to run
(Today? Tomorrow? Next week?)
I watch the news
Even though it makes me sick.
Because the only thing worse than feeling terrified
Is feeling unprepared.
(but I'm scared, so scared)
I pretend that if I keep my eyes on the stone
Then it won't move.
(I know that’s not true)
The government wants me dead,
And the government wants me alone
3rd Place Prose
Being Gay and The Great Gatsby
By Sophia Sindelar
Daisy Buchanan presents herself as the epitome of elegance and sophistication, masking
her inner troubles behind this facade of charm and poise. Through her carefully crafted
demeanor, Daisy endeavors to convey a persona steeped in wisdom and confidence. This can be
seen in her first encounter with Nick in the novel, “Daisy took her face in her hands as if feeling
its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk,” (pg16). Nick sees Daisy
presenting as this delicate, thoughtful being even in the comfort of her own home. He views her
how the world sees her, a woman of full virtue.
Beneath her charming exterior lies a deeply flawed and self-centered personality. Daisy's
true nature emerges through moments of vulnerability and indecision, exposing the fragility of
her carefully constructed image. “Daisy was young and her artificial world was redolent of
orchids and pleasant, cheerful snobbery and orchestras which set the rhythm of the year,
summing up the sadness and suggestiveness of life in new tunes," (pg116). The reference Nick
makes to Daisy's "artificial world" suggests that the environment she creates and lives in is not
genuine. It is a carefully constructed image, filled with symbols of luxury and high society. This
indicates that her world she performs is more about appearances than substance. Additionally,
this selfish appearance is seen after Gatsby’s death, "They were careless people, Tom and
Daisy—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their
vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the
mess they had made,” (pg 137). This further illustrates Daisy's superficiality in her materialistic
values and her shallow approach to relationships. Her decision to marry and stay with Tom
Buchanan underscores her prioritization of wealth and social status over genuine affection and
personal integrity. She follows him even at his worst, even when her first love dies. This choice reveals a significant aspect of her character: Daisy values the security and prestige that come
with Tom's wealth more than she values true love or moral principles.
Similarly, I’ve recently discovered a false image about myself. I found throughout my
high school experience I was dating boys, despite feeling a disconnect that I couldn't quite
articulate at the time. Initially, it seemed like the natural thing to do, yet as I grew older, I began
to sense that my feelings for them lacked depth, they would say emotions they felt for me I
couldn’t return. Gradually, it dawned on me that I was more interested in fulfilling expectations
than in the relationships themselves. My mother, with her conservative and traditional views, had
always emphasized the importance of certain social norms. Subconsciously, I aimed to meet her
approval, which led me to continue dating boys, even as I increasingly realized my true
orientation lay elsewhere. This period was marked by contentment in my relationships, masking
a deeper internal struggle and a longing to be true to myself.
Both myself and Daisy put up these facades in order to be accepted by societal
expectations. A false image can be purposeful or not, maybe a combination of both. Everyone
has a type of social pressure placed on them, projecting a false image of themselves is a form of
protection. Just because one is presenting this image does not make them any less who they
actually are. Daisy, while being written in a selfish light through Nick, could be using her
stability with Tom in order to secure a sense of safety and social standing in a world that harshly
judges and restricts women. Similarly, my own experiences of projecting a false image were driven by a need for acceptance and a fear of rejection, underscoring how individuals often
sacrifice their true selves to meet the expectations imposed by others.