At Leeds Pride, our community is built on the voices and experiences of people of all ages. Chloe-Rose Hey, a 16-year-old aspiring poet, recently shared a poem inspired by her visit to Leeds Pride with her brother. Through her writing, Chloe-Rose explores what it can feel like to grow up LGBTQ+ in a school environment and the sense of belonging that Pride can bring. We’re proud to share her words with our community and celebrate young creatives who use their voices to tell powerful stories.
The Place I Felt Apart At Leeds Pride
At fifteen I moved through school like I was made of glass,
a masc girl in a world that watched me shrink as I’d pass.
My hoodie sleeves were armour, my trainers worn and grey,
and every step felt heavier with things I couldn’t say.
They’d whisper down the corridors as if I couldn’t hear,
their laughter sharp and cutting, designed to spark my fear.
“Why does she walk like that?” “She thinks she’s some tough guy.”
And “Girls shouldn’t dress that way,” always hurled as I walked by.
Some asked if it was “just a phase,” a joke they’d never drop,
as if my truth were something they could measure, judge, or stop.
“Do you even like boys?” they’d sneer with smirks that scraped my skin,
like their curiosity mixed with cruelty was some kind of win.
They’d tug at my short hair, asking, “Trying to be a lad?”
or snicker, “Bet her mum hates it,” like my existence was bad.
I’d fake a laugh to mask the sting, pretend it didn’t hurt,
pretend my chest wasn’t heavy every time they called me “flirt.”
Teachers sighed with gentle tones, but never truly saw
how every comment chipped at me like chisels made of awe.
At lunch I hid in corners, craving silence, craving space,
feeling like the only queer kid drowning in that place.
But then one warm July a friend said, “Come to Leeds Pride, please.”
A spark lit up inside me like a match struck on a breeze.
I wasn’t sure I belonged there, wasn’t sure where I fit in,
but something in me whispered: this is where you can begin.
When I stepped into the city, the whole world changed its tune
the Headrow buzzing wildly like a rainbow-drenched monsoon.
Drums echoed off the buildings, flags rose high into the sky,
and people beamed at strangers with a warmth that made me cry.
Masc girls in bold suits strutted as the crowd began to cheer,
soft girls crowned in glitter danced like nothing sparked their fear.
Trans men marched together, proud beneath the Yorkshire sun,
and nonbinary folk shone brighter than anyone.
Briggate overflowed with colour, bodies shoulder-to-shoulder tight,
a tapestry of queerness woven loud and woven bright.
Every shout of “Happy Pride!” felt like a hand upon my back,
lifting years of shame and weight I’d carried like a sack.
A woman in a rainbow cape said, “Love, you’re safe here today,”
and something in my chest cracked open in the sweetest way.
I saw couples kissing softly, hands held high above the crowd,
as float speakers thumped bass lines that made my heartbeat loud.
Glitter rained from dancers perched on floats lined edge to edge,
and the street became a promise, not a threat or whispered pledge.
No eyes rolled at my hoodie, no one mocked my deeper voice;
for once in my existence, simply being me was choice.
The masc girl who hid in corridors of judgement, fear, and doubt,
finally saw the world was wide enough to hold her inside out.
The comments that once stung me faded into distant sound,
because here, among my people, I was whole I had been found.
In Leeds, where Pride drums echo through each alley, street, and square,
I learned that joy can blossom even where there’s been despair.
And as colours lit the skyline, something shifted deep inside-
a final, freeing truth: This world is mine too—and I walk in it with Pride.
