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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jul 16

PRIDE 30th: 🏳️‍⚧️ + 🌈🇺🇸 flags flying high! Red, White & Rainbow. We’re queering the national myth and claiming America for ALL of us. Because queer history is American history. 💪🌈 #MakeAmericaGayAgain #PrideMonth 🎉

The photo shows the front of a brick townhome in my Gulf Coast neighborhood. No people are visible—just two flags flying from the stoop. On the left, the “Make America Gay Again” Pride flag by FlagsForGood is partially visible, with the words “..KE AMERICA” and “...Y ...” legible across rainbow stripes. On the right, the Texas Trans Pride flag is fully visible, with its vertical blue stripe and white star beside the pink, white, and blue of the Transgender Pride flag.

This image highlights how architecture becomes a canvas for resistance. These flags aren’t just symbols—they’re interventions. They queer the visual language of the home, transforming it from a private space into a public declaration of identity and belonging. In the context of reimagining national myth, this matters. The home—often idealized in nationalist rhetoric as a site of tradition—is here redefined as a space of queer futurity. These flags don’t just say who lives here; they say who belongs here.

I’m standing outside in my Gulf Coast neighborhood, holding up a peace sign in front of a brick townhome. Behind me, two flags fly from the stoop. On the left, the “Make America Gay Again” Pride flag by FlagsForGood is partially visible, with the word “GAY” clearly shown in bold black letters across rainbow stripes. On the right, the Texas Trans Pride flag is fully visible, with its vertical blue stripe and white star beside the pink, white, and blue of the Transgender Pride flag.

This image captures the power of partial visibility. Even when only one word is legible, the message is unmistakable. These flags don’t just signal identity—they transform the visual language of the neighborhood. Reimagining national myth means queering the symbols of home, pride, and patriotism. These flags do that work. They say: queer and trans people live here. We belong here. And we’re not going anywhere.

This wide shot captures a quiet moment in my Gulf Coast neighborhood. A brick townhome stands in the center, flying two flags from its front stoop. On the left, the “Make America Gay Again” Pride flag by FlagsForGood is fully visible, with bold black letters across rainbow stripes and white stars framing the message. On the right, the Texas Trans Pride flag flies with its vertical blue stripe and white star beside the pink, white, and blue of the Transgender Pride flag.

This image expands the frame to include the surrounding neighborhood, reminding me that queerness doesn’t exist in isolation—it’s woven into the fabric of our communities. These flags aren’t just personal statements; they’re public declarations that queer and trans people live here, belong here, and shape this place. In the context of reimagining national myth, this matters. The myth of the American neighborhood often excludes us. But here, the flags rewrite that story—turning the home into a site of resistance, and the neighborhood into a landscape of pride.

I’m standing outside in my Gulf Coast neighborhood, with two flags flying behind me. The left flag is the “Make America Gay Again” Pride flag by FlagsForGood, though only part of the slogan—“MAKE AM... GAY...”—is visible in this frame. Its rainbow stripes and bold black letters still carry the full weight of its message: queerness is not only visible, it’s proud, public, and political. On the right, the Texas Trans Pride flag flies with its vertical blue stripe and white star beside the pink, white, and blue of the Transgender Pride flag.

This image continues the theme of reimagining national myth by queering the symbols of state and nation. The partial visibility of the slogan in this frame reminds me that queer visibility is often fragmented—seen in pieces, interpreted through context. But even fragments can be powerful. These flags, even when partially obscured, still disrupt the normative visual landscape of suburbia. They assert that queer and trans people are not just present—we are rooted here, shaping the culture of our communities.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jul 16

PRIDE 29th: 🏳️‍⚧️🤝🏳️‍🌈 (Genderflux flag) – Gender isn’t always “on/off.” Some days you feel 100% 🚀, other days maybe 10% 🌗. That’s #Genderflux: the intensity of one’s gender identity can fluctuate. And guess what? It’s all valid 🎚️💖. We see you, we celebrate you! 🌈 #PrideMonth #TransPride 🎉

I’m standing on the front stoop of a Gulf Coast townhome, where two flags fly proudly. On the left is the Genderflux Pride Flag—six horizontal stripes fading from dark pink to yellow, symbolizing the fluctuation of gender intensity. On the right is the Texas Trans Pride Flag, a hybrid of the Lone Star Flag and the Transgender Pride Flag. Its vertical blue field with a white star anchors the design, while the horizontal stripes in light blue, pink, and white affirm trans identity.

These flags are more than symbols—they’re declarations of presence, resistance, and belonging. The Texas Trans Flag queers the iconography of the state, asserting that trans people are not outsiders to Texan identity but integral to its cultural fabric. The Genderflux Flag, with its gradient of gendered and agendered hues, maps the shifting terrain of gender experience.

I chose these flags to reflect the intensity of experience—how identity can be both deeply rooted and constantly in motion. As someone who lives at the intersection of transness, neurodivergence, and Southern identity, I see these flags as visual affirmations that we can hold complexity and contradiction with pride.

Two flags hang from the front of a Gulf Coast townhome. On the left is the Genderflux Pride Flag, with six horizontal stripes—dark pink, light pink, grey, light blue, dark blue, and yellow—representing the fluidity and fluctuation of gender intensity. On the right is the Texas Trans Pride Flag, which merges the Lone Star Flag of Texas with the Transgender Pride Flag. It features a vertical blue field with a white star and horizontal stripes in light blue, pink, and white.

These flags are visual declarations of identity and belonging. The Genderflux flag maps the spectrum of gendered experience, while the Texas Trans flag queers the iconography of the state, asserting that trans people are not outsiders to Texan identity.

In this image, I wanted to focus on the semiotic disruption these flags perform. By queering traditional symbols—like the Texas flag—they challenge exclusionary narratives and reframe them as inclusive, affirming, and resistant. This is part of the broader theme of intensity of experience: the emotional and political labor of being visibly queer in spaces that don’t always affirm us.

Two flags hang from a small roofed structure on the side of a Gulf Coast house. On the left is the Genderflux Pride Flag, with six horizontal stripes—dark pink, light pink, grey, light blue, dark blue, and yellow—symbolizing the fluctuation of gender intensity. On the right is the Texas Trans Pride Flag, which merges the Lone Star Flag of Texas with the Transgender Pride Flag. It features a vertical blue field with a white star and horizontal stripes in light blue, pink, and white. A small sign in the yard displays LGBTQ+ pride imagery. The background includes other homes, parked cars, and well-maintained lawns with trees and shrubs.

This image is about **queer visibility in everyday spaces**. These flags aren’t flown at a parade or protest—they’re part of the architecture of home. The Texas Trans flag reclaims regional symbolism, while the Genderflux flag affirms the legitimacy of fluid gender identities.

I wanted this photo to speak to the affective politics of queer life in the South. These flags are not just about identity—they’re about love, safety, and the emotional labor of being visible in spaces that don’t always affirm us. That’s the intensity of experience I’m honoring here.

I’m standing outside a Gulf Coast townhome, where two flags fly from the front stoop. On the left is the Genderflux Pride Flag, with six horizontal stripes—dark pink, light pink, grey, light blue, dark blue, and yellow—representing the fluctuation of gender intensity. On the right is the Texas Trans Pride Flag, a hybrid of the Lone Star Flag and the Transgender Pride Flag. Its vertical blue field with a white star anchors the design, while the horizontal stripes in light blue, pink, and white affirm trans identity.

These flags are not just personal—they’re political. The Genderflux flag visualizes the spectrum of gendered experience, while the Texas Trans flag queers the iconography of the state, asserting that trans people are not outsiders to Texan identity.

In this image, I wanted to highlight how queer regionalism can be both visible and grounded. These flags are rooted in place and identity, and they resist the idea that queerness only belongs in urban centers. They speak to the intensity of experience—of being trans, genderflux, and Southern, all at once.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jul 16

PRIDE 28th: 🏳️‍⚧️ + 🏳️‍🌈➡️💛💜 (Intersex-Inclusive Progress Pride flag). Iteration = Inclusion! The Pride flag keeps evolving (2017, 2018, 2021…) to welcome everyone. From Texas trans pride to the new intersex circle, we’re always updating our colors 🌈✊. Forward for progress! #Pride #Intersex #ProgressPride 🎉

Two flags hang from the front stoop of a Gulf Coast townhome. On the left is the Intersex-Inclusive Progress Pride Flag, with its six rainbow stripes, a chevron of trans, Black, and Brown stripes, and a yellow triangle with a purple circle—symbolizing intersex inclusion and bodily autonomy. On the right is the Texas Trans Flag by FlagsForGood, which merges the Texas Lone Star with the Trans Pride colors. The vertical blue field and white star evoke Texan identity, while the pink, white, and blue horizontal stripes affirm trans visibility. The flags are mounted on angled poles, fluttering slightly in the breeze. Behind them, a quiet residential street is visible, with parked cars and neighboring homes.

The Intersex Progress Pride Flag’s chevron points forward, a visual metaphor for movement and momentum. The Texas Trans Flag, by contrast, is a hybrid—its design is not about moving away from place, but about transforming it. These two flags together speak to different but complementary strategies of queer survival: one insists on progress, the other on reclamation. Both are acts of design—iterative, intentional, and deeply rooted in the politics of visibility.

I’m standing in front of a Gulf Coast townhome, wearing a blue shirt with a winged figure on it. Two flags fly from the front stoop behind me. On the left is the Intersex-Inclusive Progress Pride Flag, with its rainbow stripes, trans and BIPOC chevron, and the yellow triangle with a purple circle—representing intersex inclusion and bodily autonomy. On the right is the Texas Trans Flag by FlagsForGood, which fuses the Texas Lone Star with the Trans Pride colors. The blue vertical stripe and white star evoke Texan identity, while the pink, white, and blue horizontal stripes affirm trans visibility. Together, these flags assert that trans and intersex people belong here—on this stoop, in this neighborhood, in this state.

The Texas Trans Flag is a visual intervention. It queers the Lone Star, a symbol often tied to exclusionary nationalism, and reclaims it as a banner of trans resilience. It says: we are not outsiders to this place—we are part of its fabric. The Intersex Progress Pride Flag, with its forward-pointing chevron, reminds me that inclusion is not static. It’s a process. These flags don’t just mark identity—they mark movement, resistance, and the right to take up space.

The photo shows the front of a red brick townhome in a Gulf Coast neighborhood. Two flags are mounted on the front stoop. On the left is the Intersex-Inclusive Progress Pride Flag, with its six rainbow stripes, a chevron of trans, Black, and Brown stripes, and a yellow triangle with a purple circle—symbolizing intersex inclusion and bodily autonomy. On the right is the Texas Trans Flag by FlagsForGood, which merges the Texas Lone Star with the Trans Pride colors. The vertical blue field and white star evoke Texan identity, while the pink, white, and blue horizontal stripes affirm trans visibility. A small sign near the door reads “IT’S JUST LOVE.”

The pairing of these two flags is deliberate. The Intersex Progress Pride Flag points forward—toward justice, toward inclusion. The Texas Trans Flag, by contrast, looks inward—toward place, toward home. Together, they form a visual dialectic: one flag insists we keep moving; the other insists we already belong. This is what iterative design looks like in public space—layered, intentional, and rooted in both resistance and care.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jul 16

PRIDE 27th: 🏳️‍⚧️ + AroAce flags flying high! Love has no hierarchy. We’re celebrating relationship anarchy – every connection is valid, no “default” way to love. Be it romantic, platonic, or anything in-between, all bonds matter equally. 💛💙🌈 #PrideMonth #AroAce #TransPride

I stand in front of a house, wearing a striped tank top and layered necklaces. My copper-toned hair is styled in a colorful, expressive way. Two flags fly from the front stoop behind me: the Texas Trans Pride Flag on the right, with its Lone Star and trans pride stripes, and the Aro/Ace (Sunset) Pride Flag on the left, with its orange, yellow, white, light blue, and dark blue bands. The scene is calm and residential.

The Texas Trans Pride Flag queers a symbol often associated with exclusion and reclaims it for trans belonging. It’s a reminder that we don’t have to leave our homes—literal or cultural—to be who we are. We can stay, resist, and transform. That’s what pride looks like here.

The Aro/Ace flag challenges the assumption that romantic and sexual relationships are the default or most meaningful forms of connection. I chose to fly it today to honor the spectrum of ways people build love, care, and community outside of normative coupledom. Relationship Anarchy reminds us that no one form of intimacy is more valid than another—and that we can build our own constellations of connection.

I stand in front of a brick residential building, wearing a striped tank top. My copper-toned hair is streaked with vibrant colors. Two flags hang from a tree branch behind me: the Texas Trans Pride Flag on the right, with a vertical blue field and white five-pointed star beside pink, white, and blue stripes; and the Aro/Ace (Sunset) Pride Flag on the left, with five horizontal stripes in orange, yellow, white, light blue, and dark blue. Two vehicles are parked under a carport in front of a multi-unit building, with trees and greenery in the background.

The Aro/Ace flag’s light blue and dark blue stripes represent the spectrum of Aro/Ace experiences—fluid, diverse, and often erased. Relationship Anarchy invites us to build relationships based on consent, care, and mutual respect, not hierarchy or expectation. These flags together affirm that trans and Aro/Ace people are not theoretical—we are real, we are here, and we are building lives worth celebrating.

Two flags hang from the front of a house with a brick exterior and a dark brown roof. On the right is the Texas Trans Pride Flag, with a vertical blue field and white five-pointed star beside horizontal stripes in pink, white, and blue. On the left is the Aro/Ace (Sunset) Pride Flag, with five horizontal stripes in orange, yellow, white, light blue, and dark blue. The house is part of a quiet residential neighborhood, with other homes, parked cars, and leafy green trees in the background.

The orange stripe on the Aro/Ace flag represents community—an affirmation that Aro/Ace people are not isolated or incomplete, but part of vibrant, chosen networks of care. Relationship Anarchy challenges the idea that intimacy must be structured around romantic or sexual norms. These flags together assert that trans and Aro/Ace people don’t just exist in theory—we live here, love here, and build community here.

I stand in front of a house, wearing a striped tank top and layered necklaces. My copper-toned hair is streaked with vibrant colors. Two flags fly from the front stoop behind me: the Texas Trans Pride Flag on the right, with a vertical blue field and white five-pointed star beside pink, white, and blue stripes; and the Aro/Ace (Sunset) Pride Flag on the left, with five horizontal stripes in orange, yellow, white, light blue, and dark blue. The scene is calm and residential, with trees and a beige house in the background.

The Aro/Ace flag’s blue stripes represent the spectrum of Aro/Ace experiences—fluid, diverse, and often misunderstood. Relationship Anarchy invites us to reject the idea that intimacy must follow a single script. It’s not about being alone—it’s about choosing how we love, who we prioritize, and what community looks like. These flags together say: we are here, we are whole, and we are not waiting for permission to belong.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jul 16

PRIDE 26th: 🏳️‍⚧️ Texas Trans Pride + 🏳️‍🌈 Queer Pride flags flying high! From slur to power word – we reclaimed queer 💪. Claiming our language, claiming our space. We’re here, we belong! 🎉🌈 #PrideMonth #QueerPride #TransPride

Two flags fly from the front stoop of my home. On the left, the Queer Pride Flag by Pastelmemer features nine horizontal stripes: black, light blue, blue, green, white, yellow-orange, pink, light pink, and black again. It represents a wide spectrum of queer identities, including asexual, aromantic, agender, nonbinary, and same-gender attraction. On the right, the Texas Trans Flag by FlagsForGood merges the Lone Star of Texas with the pink, blue, and white of the Transgender Pride Flag. This hybrid design queers a regional symbol, asserting that trans people are not outsiders to Texan identity, we're integral to its cultural fabric. The flags are the focal point, flying clearly in the breeze against a backdrop of trees, bushes, and neighboring homes. These flags are visible from the shared green space, where neighbors walk and community life unfolds. I fly them to make queer and trans presence part of the everyday landscape.

These flags don’t just coexist—they’re in conversation. The Queer Pride Flag resists fixed categories. The Texas Trans Flag reclaims regional identity. Together, they reflect the power of reclaiming labels, previously used to exclude, now they say: I am queer, I am trans, I am Texan, and I am home.

Two flags fly from the front stoop of my brick townhome in a Gulf Coast neighborhood. On the left, the Queer Pride Flag ripples in the breeze—nine horizontal stripes in black, light blue, blue, green, white, yellow-orange, pink, light pink, and black again. On the right, flying slightly higher, is the Texas Trans Pride Flag: a vertical blue field with a white five-pointed star at the hoist, followed by horizontal stripes in light blue, pink, white, pink, and light blue—merging the Lone Star of Texas with the colors of the Transgender Pride Flag.

The flags are mounted on angled poles attached to the porch columns. Behind them, the sky is partly cloudy, and the neighborhood trees and rooftops are visible. No people are in the frame—just the flags, standing tall.

The Queer Pride Flag reclaims a word once used to harm and turns it into a symbol of unity across diverse identities—gender, orientation, and experience. Its layered colors represent same-gender attraction, nonbinary genders, and asexual, aromantic, and agender spectrums. Flying it alongside the Texas Trans Pride Flag is a declaration: we are not just present—we belong. These flags queer the landscape, asserting that trans and queer people are part of the cultural and geographic fabric of Texas.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jul 16

Finally getting around to posting my flags for the last 5 days of PRIDE.
Across the last 5 days, the Texas Trans Pride flag flew on the higher flagpole. For the lower pole:
26 Queer flag
27 Aro/Ace flag
28 Intersex Progress Pride flag
29 Genderflux flag
30 "Make America Gay Again" flag

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Reposted by Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה

The Autistic Coach | Matthew (he/they) @theautisticcoach.bsky.social · Jul 2

Boundaries aren’t walls.

They’re clarity.

They’re care.

They say - this is what I need in order to stay in connection.

Autistic boundaries often get labeled “rigid.”

But what if they’re precise?

What if they’re the only way we’ve learned to stay safe?

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 27

Stonewall was a riot. Today is a rave. ⚡️ From secret handshakes to marching in broad daylight – gay men’s pride has come so far! 🌈✊ Proud to fly the Gay Men’s Pride flag, honoring decades of courage and love. #HistoryMade #Pride

I’m standing on the front stoop of a Gulf Coast townhome, flying two flags for Pride 25th. On the left is the Gay Men’s Pride flag – seven horizontal stripes in green, teal, white, and blue tones. It’s a newer flag (2019) that centers trans, non-binary, and gender-nonconforming gay men, and honors the community’s joy, healing, and fortitude. On the right is the Pride USA flag – a rainbow-striped version of the American flag, asserting that queer people are part of the national fabric. The house is brick with a wooden awning, and the lawn is green and tidy. I’m wearing a blue striped tank and jeans, copper-toned hair loose.

The Pride USA flag is a form of visual activism – queering the most iconic national symbol to say “we are American too.” And the Gay Men’s flag? It’s a reclamation of space for a group that’s often been both hyper-visible and invisibilized. It says: gay men are not a monolith. We are diverse, we are resilient, and we are still here.

Today’s theme is the **History of Gay Men’s Pride** – from the coded subcultures of the early 20th century to the defiant joy of Stonewall and the grief-forged strength of the AIDS era. These flags are part of that lineage. They’re not just fabric – they’re declarations. And I’m proud to fly them.

I’m standing in front of my brick townhome, wearing a blue striped tank and denim blue jeans, copper-toned hair loose. Two flags fly from the stoop: the Gay Men’s Pride flag (green, white, and blue stripes) and the Pride USA flag (a rainbow-striped American flag). The lawn is green and tidy, with parked cars in the background. This is a quiet Gulf Coast neighborhood, but today it’s also a site of queer visibility.

For Pride 25th, I’m reflecting on the **AIDS crisis of the 1980s**, a chapter of gay men’s history that shaped the meaning of Pride forever. As the epidemic ravaged the world, gay men were dying in staggering numbers while governments looked away. But instead of retreating into shame, they rose up. Groups like ACT UP and the Gay Men’s Health Crisis turned grief into action. They demanded care, dignity, and justice. They made quilts, marched in funerals, and shouted “Silence = Death.” That’s the fortitude stripe on the Gay Men’s flag. That’s the spirit behind the Pride USA flag – a refusal to be erased.

I fly these flags not just in celebration, but in remembrance. Every time I raise them, I think of the men we lost and the ones who fought like hell to make sure we could live. Pride is protest. Pride is memory. Pride is survival.

I’m standing in front of my brick townhome with Tudor-style accents, wearing a blue striped tank and denim blue jeans. My copper-toned hair is loose. I’m posing with one hand on my hip and the other raised in a peace sign. Two flags fly from the stoop: the Gay Men’s Pride flag (green, white, and blue stripes) and the Pride USA flag (a rainbow-striped American flag). The lawn is green, the neighborhood quiet. This is the final image in my Pride 25th photo series.

Today I want to say thank you. To the gay men who marched when it was dangerous. Who loved each other through a plague. Who fought for marriage, for visibility, for joy. Who made Pride what it is. I’m not a gay man, but I owe so much to your courage. Your pride lit the way for mine.

The Gay Men’s flag is still new, but its message is timeless: we are diverse, we are resilient, we are worthy of love. And the Pride USA flag? It’s a reminder that queerness is not un-American – it’s part of the American story. These flags are more than symbols. They’re declarations. And I’ll keep flying them.

Happy Pride. And to the gay men reading this: thank you. Your pride changed the world.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 27

Flying 🏳️‍🌈 & 🧡🤍💖 today! Celebrating Lesbian Pride and the rich history behind it. From secret violets 💐 to a bold sunset-striped flag, lesbians have fought to be seen. Proud to honor that legacy at work – visibility matters! #Pride #LesbianPride #History

Two flags fly from the front stoop of a townhome in a Gulf Coast neighborhood. The top flag is the Pride USA flag — a reimagined American flag with rainbow stripes replacing the traditional red and white, symbolizing that LGBTQ+ people are integral to the American story. Below it is the 7-stripe Lesbian Pride flag, with horizontal bands of dark orange, orange, light orange, white, light pink, medium pink, and dark pink. These colors represent gender nonconformity, independence, community, unique womanhood, peace, femininity, and love. The flags are mounted on angled poles above the entrance.

For PRIDE 24th, I'm honoring the history of lesbian visibility. For decades, lesbians were often erased — overshadowed in both feminist and LGBTQ+ spaces. The flag below is more than fabric; it’s a symbol of reclamation and belonging. It was created through a grassroots process in 2018, a rare example of a community collaboratively designing its own symbol. That process — messy, democratic, deeply lesbian — is part of what makes this flag so powerful. It doesn’t belong to one person. It belongs to all of us.

Two flags hang from poles mounted on the front of a stoop. The top flag is the Pride USA flag — a rainbow-striped reinterpretation of the American flag. Below it is the 7-stripe Lesbian Pride flag, with horizontal bands of dark orange, orange, light orange, white, light pink, medium pink, and dark pink. The background includes a green lawn, a sidewalk, trees, and another building in the distance.

This image brings to mind the evolution of lesbian symbolism — from violets and double Venus pendants to flags like this one. For much of the 20th century, lesbian identity was expressed through subtle, coded symbols. The modern Lesbian Pride flag is the opposite of subtle — it’s bold, warm, and unapologetically visible. And that visibility matters. It’s not just about being seen by others; it’s about seeing ourselves reflected in the world around us. When I fly this flag, I’m not just honoring my own story — I’m honoring the stories of those who came before me, and making space for those still finding their way.

I’m standing in front of my home, wearing a rust-colored short-sleeve overshirt over a pinkish-brown tank top, along with a necklace with a small magen in bi colors. Two flags fly above me from separate poles mounted on the house. On the right is the Pride USA flag — a rainbow-striped reinterpretation of the American flag. On the left is the 7-stripe Lesbian Pride flag, with horizontal bands of dark orange, orange, light orange, white, light pink, medium pink, and dark pink.

This photo is personal. I’ve spent years learning to take up space — not just as a queer person, but as a lesbian. For so long, lesbian identity was something I felt I had no right to claim. But this flag — this warm, sunset-colored banner — doesn’t ask for permission. It just exists. Boldly. Publicly. And so do I. Flying it is a way of saying: I’m not hiding. I’m not shrinking. I’m part of a long, beautiful, complicated lineage of women, nonbinary and gender diverse folks who love women. And I’m proud of that.

I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of my house, wearing a rust-colored short-sleeve overshirt layered over a pink tank top, with a necklace. Two flags fly above me from separate poles mounted on the house. On the right is the Pride USA flag — a rainbow-striped reinterpretation of the American flag. On the left is the 7-stripe Lesbian Pride flag, with horizontal bands of dark orange, orange, light orange, white, light pink, medium pink, and dark pink. Behind me, a row of townhouses and parked cars line the street.

This image is a reflection of how far we’ve come — and how far we still have to go. I think about the “Lavender Menace” protest in 1970, when lesbian feminists disrupted a women’s conference to demand inclusion. They wore shirts declaring themselves a threat — and a force. That moment was about refusing invisibility. Flying the Lesbian Pride flag today is my own version of that refusal. It’s a way of saying: I’m not just part of the LGBTQ+ community — I’m a lesbian, and that identity deserves its own space, its own history, its own pride.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 26

“What even is romance?” 💭 Some of us don’t feel it – and that’s okay! Today we fly the 🏳️‍🌈 (Pride USA flag) + 💚🤍🖤 (Aromantic flag) to celebrate ALL love, including friendship & community. 💕 Everyone’s path is valid. #Pride #Aromantic #Inclusivity

Two flags fly from the front stoop of my Gulf Coast townhome. On the left, the Aromantic Pride flag: five horizontal stripes in dark green, light green, white, gray, and black. On the right, flying slightly higher, the PRIDE USA flag: a queered version of the U.S. flag that retains the blue canton with 50 white stars but replaces the red and white stripes with the six rainbow colors of the LGBTQ+ Pride flag. No people are visible in the image. The house is modest, with a small stoop and railing, surrounded by greenery.

For PRIDE 23rd, which is three weeks and two days of PRIDE, the theme is “What even is romance?” These two flags together challenge the assumption that romantic love is universal or necessary. The Aromantic flag asserts that love can be platonic, queerplatonic, or communal — and still be deep, meaningful, and worthy of celebration. The PRIDE USA flag queers the national symbol itself, insisting that LGBTQ+ people are not just included in the American story — we are essential to it. Flying them together is a statement: that the promise of “liberty and justice for all” must include those who don’t fit the romance-centric mold. That freedom includes the freedom not to follow a script.

I (she/fae) stand in front of my brick townhome, holding up a peace sign with one hand. Above me, two flags fly from angled poles. On the left is the Aromantic Pride flag: five horizontal stripes in dark green, light green, white, gray, and black. On the right is the Pride USA flag: a queered version of the American flag, with rainbow stripes replacing the traditional red and white, and the blue canton with 50 white stars intact. I’m wearing a black and white patterned dress with a bold orange accent stripe at the knees.

This image feels joyful — but also defiant. The peace sign is a small gesture, but it carries weight. On PRIDE 23rd, as I reflect on the theme “What even is romance?”, I’m reminded that peace isn’t just the absence of conflict — it’s the presence of justice. And justice means making space for all kinds of love, including those that don’t fit the romance script. These flags, and this moment, are about visibility, yes — but also about claiming joy. Aromantic people deserve joy. Queer people deserve joy. And we deserve to be seen not just in struggle, but in celebration.

I (she/fae) stand in front of my brick townhome, flanked by two flags. On the left is the Aromantic Pride flag: dark green, light green, white, gray, and black horizontal stripes. On the right is the Pride USA flag: a queered version of the American flag, with rainbow stripes replacing the traditional red and white, and the blue canton with 50 white stars intact. I’m wearing a black and white patterned dress with a visible orange accent stripe at the knees. A small sign near the door reads: “IT’S JUST LOVE.”

On PRIDE 23rd, I’ve been reflecting on the theme “What even is romance?” and how these flags — and this sign — challenge the assumption that romantic love is the only kind that matters. “IT’S JUST LOVE” is a phrase that can be read two ways: as a dismissal (“it’s just love”) or as a radical truth — that love, in all its forms, is enough. Aromantic people are often told their love isn’t real or isn’t complete. But this image says otherwise. It says: love is love, even when it’s not romantic. And that’s worth flying a flag for.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 24

Two flags, one message: be seen, be celebrated. 🇺🇸🏳️‍🌈 + 🌸🏳️‍⚧️ (Genderfluid) = the joy of feeling recognized in who you are. No matter your label, you belong. Happy Pride! 🎉 #Pride #VisibleAndProud

I’m standing on the stoop of my Gulf Coast townhome, framed by two flags that speak volumes. On the left: the Genderfluid Pride flag – pink, white, purple, black, and blue – representing the full spectrum of gender fluidity. On the right: the Pride USA flag – a queered version of the American flag, where the traditional red and white stripes are replaced with the six-color rainbow of LGBTQ+ Pride. Both flags are mounted above the entrance, angled outward like open arms.

This image is about visibility. About the joy of being seen – not just tolerated, but *recognized*. The Genderfluid flag tells the story of my gender: not fixed, not binary, but fluid, expansive, and real. It’s a flag that says, “You don’t have to choose one box. You get to be all of you.” And the Pride USA flag? That’s a reclamation. It’s a refusal to let nationalism be the domain of exclusion. It’s a declaration that queer people are not outsiders to this country – we are part of its fabric.

I fly these flags not just for myself, but for every kid who walks by and wonders if they’re alone. For every neighbor who’s never seen their identity reflected in public space. For every person who’s been told they don’t belong. These flags say: *You do.*

This is what Pride looks like for me – not just celebration, but affirmation. Not just color, but courage. Not just flags, but freedom.

I (she/fae) stand outside in front of my home, wearing a black and white striped shirt with lavender headphones resting around my neck. My long blonde hair falls over my shoulders as I hold up a peace sign with my right hand. Behind me, two flags fly from angled poles: the Genderfluid Pride flag and the Pride USA flag. The Genderfluid flag features five horizontal stripes – pink, white, purple, black, and blue – representing the fluid and expansive nature of gender identity. The Pride USA flag retains the blue field of stars but replaces the red and white stripes with the six-color rainbow of LGBTQ+ Pride.

These flags are part of a broader visual language that challenges the idea that identity must be singular or static. The Genderfluid flag doesn’t just represent one identity – it holds space for movement, for change, for contradiction. It’s a flag that says: you don’t have to be one thing forever to be real.

The Pride USA flag, meanwhile, reclaims a national symbol that has too often been used to exclude. By queering the American flag, it insists that LGBTQ+ people are not marginal to the story of this country – we are central to it. It’s a reminder that the promise of “liberty and justice for all” must include *all* of us, not just in theory, but in practice.

Together, these flags are a public declaration of presence and pride – not just for me, but for anyone who’s ever needed to see themselves reflected in the symbols around them.

Two flags hang from the front of my Gulf Coast townhome. On the left is the Genderfluid Pride flag: five horizontal stripes in pink, white, purple, black, and blue. On the right is the Pride USA flag, which retains the blue field of stars but replaces the red and white stripes with the six-color rainbow of LGBTQ+ Pride. The flags are mounted on angled poles, extending outward from the house. In the background, trees and parked cars line a quiet residential street.

This image is part of *A Pride of Flags: a flag a day for the month of Pride*. Today’s post, “Pride 22nd,” focuses on the joy of feeling seen in a label. The Genderfluid flag, designed by JJ Poole, represents the experience of gender that shifts over time – from femininity to masculinity, to androgyny, to agender, to all genders. It’s a visual spectrum of identity, and for many, it’s the first time they’ve seen their experience reflected in color.

The Pride USA flag queers a national symbol, asserting that LGBTQ+ people are not outside the American story – we are part of it. It’s a joyful, subversive act of reclamation. By flying these flags together, I’m not just celebrating Pride – I’m making a statement: visibility is power, and belonging is a right.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 24

Day 22: I’m flying the Pride USA 🇺🇸🏳️‍🌈 and Genderfluid flags today, and my heart could burst. As a genderfae person, I finally have a label that feels like home—and it’s pure joy to be seen. 💖💚💙 #Pride #Genderfluid #SeenAndHeard

I (she/fae) stand outside in front of my home, wearing a black and white striped shirt and lavender headphones. My light copper hair falls past my shoulders as I hold up a peace sign with my right hand. Behind me, two flags fly from angled poles: the Pride USA flag and the Genderfluid Pride flag. The Pride USA flag retains the blue field of stars but replaces the red and white stripes with the six-color rainbow of LGBTQ+ Pride. The Genderfluid flag features five horizontal stripes: pink, white, purple, black, and blue – representing the fluidity of gender identity across and beyond the binary.

These flags are more than decoration – they’re declarations. The Genderfluid flag was created by JJ Poole to represent those of us whose gender identity shifts over time. Each stripe holds meaning: pink for femininity, blue for masculinity, purple for the blend of both, black for agender identity, and white for all genders. It’s a visual spectrum that affirms the complexity and validity of fluid gender experiences.

The Pride USA flag queers a national symbol, asserting that LGBTQ+ people are not outsiders to American identity – we are part of its fabric. It’s a joyful, subversive act of reclamation. By replacing the red and white stripes with the rainbow, it challenges the idea that patriotism belongs only to the normative. It says: we are here, we are queer, and we are American.

Together, these flags speak to the joy of feeling seen – not just in private, but in public. They invite conversation, spark recognition, and create space for those who’ve never seen themselves reflected in the symbols of nationhood or gender before.

Two flags fly from the side of my Gulf Coast townhome: the Genderfluid Pride flag and the Pride USA flag. The Genderfluid flag – pink, white, purple, black, and blue – represents the fluidity of gender identity, the way it can shift across and beyond the binary. The Pride USA flag reimagines the American flag by replacing its red and white stripes with the six-color rainbow of LGBTQ+ Pride. Together, they form a visual declaration: queer people are not outsiders to national identity – we are part of its fabric.

This image is part of *A Pride of Flags: a flag a day for the month of Pride*. Today’s post, titled “Pride 22nd,” centers on the power of public visibility. These flags aren’t just symbols – they’re statements. The Genderfluid flag affirms the validity of fluid gender identities, while the Pride USA flag queers a national icon to insist that “liberty and justice for all” must truly mean *all*.

Flying them together is an act of joyful resistance. It’s about being seen, being counted, and being proud – not in spite of who we are, but because of it.

I (she/fae) sit outside in a quiet residential neighborhood, wearing a black and white striped shirt and lavender headphones. My long, light-colored hair falls over my shoulders. Behind me, two flags fly from angled poles: the Pride USA flag and the Genderfluid Pride flag. The Pride USA flag keeps the blue field of stars but replaces the red and white stripes with the six-color rainbow of LGBTQ+ Pride. The Genderfluid flag features five horizontal stripes: pink, white, purple, black, and blue – representing the fluidity of gender identity across and beyond the binary.

This image reflects the quieter side of Pride – the everyday moments where visibility still matters. Not every act of pride is loud. Sometimes it’s sitting in the sun with your flags flying behind you, knowing that your presence is enough. The Genderfluid flag reminds us that gender doesn’t have to be fixed to be valid. It can shift, expand, and return – and still be whole. The Pride USA flag, meanwhile, challenges the idea that national identity belongs only to the normative. It’s a reminder that queer people are part of this country’s story – not in the margins, but in the heart of it.

These flags are not just symbols of celebration. They’re acts of resistance, of reclamation, and of quiet joy.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 24

For PRIDE 21st (which is 3 weeks of PRIDE!), I'm flying the Leather Pride flag (along with a PRIDE USA flag) because Pride has never been PG-rated. 😈Kink is part of our history – we don’t get liberation by hiding what makes us different. 🖤🌈 #PrideMonth #LeatherPride

My best friend and queer-romantic partner (she/they) is holding my (she/fae) arms above my head by my wrists with her right hand. I’m wearing a black floral print top and green linen pants. She’s wearing a green top and a long brown skirt. We’re standing outside my home, beneath two visible flags: the PRIDE USA flag—an American flag with rainbow stripes replacing the red and white—and the Leather Pride flag, with nine horizontal stripes alternating black and royal blue, a white center stripe, and a red heart in the upper left corner. A third flag is partially visible. A small yard sign with a rainbow heart design is also present.

This image is about queer connection, trust, and the joy of being fully seen. We don’t live together—she lives closer to downtown—but this moment is ours. The Leather Pride flag honors the kink and leather communities that have always been part of LGBTQ+ resistance. The PRIDE USA flag reclaims national identity through a queer lens. These flags don’t just represent identity—they represent the freedom to be in our bodies, in our joy, and in our relationships without shame.

I (she/fae) am embracing my best friend and queer-romantic partner (she/they) in front of my home. I’m wearing a black floral print top and green linen pants. She’s wearing a green top and a long brown skirt. We’re standing close together, arms wrapped around each other. Behind us, two flags fly clearly from the porch: the PRIDE USA flag—an American flag with rainbow stripes replacing the red and white—and the Leather Pride flag, with nine horizontal stripes alternating black and royal blue, a white center stripe, and a red heart in the upper left corner. A third flag is partially visible on the left side of the image. The background includes a quiet residential neighborhood with houses, trees, and parked cars.

This image is about queer love, chosen family, and the radical act of being visible together. We don’t live together—she lives closer to downtown—but this embrace, this home, this moment is shared. The Leather Pride flag honors the kink and leather communities that have always been part of LGBTQ+ resistance. The PRIDE USA flag reclaims national identity through a queer lens. These flags don’t just represent identity—they represent the values we live by: care, consent, joy, and unapologetic authenticity.

I’m flying the Leather Pride flag and the rainbow PRIDE USA flag side by side on my front porch. The Leather flag—black, blue, and white with a red heart—was created in 1989 by Tony DeBlase to honor the kink and leather communities. It’s a symbol of chosen family, radical honesty, and the right to love outside the norm. The PRIDE USA flag beside it affirms LGBTQ+ solidarity and affirms that as queer folk, we've been here the whole time.

In the yard, a sign with a raised fist reminds me that Pride is intersectional. Our liberation is bound up with racial justice, disability justice, and economic justice. These symbols together say: Pride is protest, Pride is pleasure, and Pride is power.

Image description: A house with two flags hanging from a pole on the front porch. The left flag is the Leather Pride flag—horizontal black, blue, and white stripes with a red heart in the top left. The right flag is a rainbow PRIDE USA flag. Two signs are in the yard; one features a raised fist. Other houses, cars, and trees are visible in the background.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 24

Kink belongs at Pride. Period. 🖤💙 Leather flag flying high says it all: we celebrate sexual freedom and authenticity, not just the “PG” parts. Pride started with rebels in gear – and everyone deserves to feel welcome. We all belong. ❤️🏳️‍🌈 #LeatherPride #Pride2025

I’m standing in front of my house, where two flags fly from the porch: the PRIDE USA flag and the Leather Pride flag. The PRIDE USA flag keeps the stars and blue field of the American flag but replaces the red and white stripes with the six-stripe rainbow of classic Pride. The Leather Pride flag features nine horizontal stripes—alternating black and royal blue with a white stripe in the center—and a red heart in the upper left corner. A yard sign below reads “IT’S JUST LOVE” in rainbow letters.

These flags aren’t just decoration—they’re declarations. The PRIDE USA flag reclaims national identity through a queer lens, while the Leather Pride flag honors the kink and leather communities that have always been part of LGBTQ+ resistance. I fly them together to say: Pride is about authenticity, not assimilation. The leather community has long modeled radical consent, chosen family, and care in the face of stigma. Today, I want to highlight how kink at Pride isn’t a distraction—it’s a reminder that liberation includes sexual freedom. These flags tell a story of love that’s bold, complex, and unapologetically queer.

My best friend and queer-romantic partner (she/they) stands outside my townhouse, pointing up at the PRIDE USA flag flying from the porch. The flag features the stars of the American flag in the canton, with rainbow stripes replacing the red and white. Next to it flies the Leather Pride flag, with nine horizontal stripes alternating black and royal blue, a white center stripe, and a red heart in the upper left corner. She’s wearing a green top and a long brown skirt. The background includes a residential neighborhood with parked cars and townhouses.

This image is about joyful visibility and chosen connection. She doesn’t live here—she lives closer to downtown—but this is still her space, because it’s ours in the ways that matter. The Leather Pride flag honors the kink and leather communities that have always been part of LGBTQ+ resistance. The PRIDE USA flag reclaims national identity through a queer lens. Today, I want to highlight how these flags together tell a story of layered liberation. Pride isn’t just about being seen—it’s about being loud, visible, and unafraid. These flags say: we belong here. We always have.

I (she/fae) stand outside with my best friend and queer-romantic partner (she/they) in a residential neighborhood. I’m wearing a black floral print top and green linen pants. She’s wearing a green top and a long brown skirt. She’s reaching out and gently booping my nose. Behind us, two flags fly from the porch of my home: the PRIDE USA flag—an American flag with rainbow stripes replacing the red and white—and the Leather Pride flag, with nine horizontal stripes alternating black and royal blue, a white center stripe, and a red heart in the upper left corner. Townhouses and parked cars line the background.

This image is about queer joy, playfulness, and chosen connection. We don’t live together—she lives closer to downtown—but this moment, this home, this love is shared. The Leather Pride flag honors the kink and leather communities that have always been part of LGBTQ+ resistance. The PRIDE USA flag reclaims national identity through a queer lens. These flags are more than decoration—they’re declarations. We fly them for ourselves and for everyone who’s ever been told their love is too much. It’s not. It’s sacred.

I (she/fae) stand on a sidewalk facing my best friend and queer-romantic partner (she/they). I’m wearing a black floral print top and green linen pants. She’s wearing a green top and a long brown skirt. We’re both standing with our hands on our hips, facing each other in a playful standoff. Behind us, three flags fly from the porch of my home: the PRIDE USA flag (an American flag with rainbow stripes replacing the red and white), the Leather Pride flag (nine horizontal stripes alternating black and royal blue with a white center stripe and a red heart in the upper left corner), and a third flag with blue, white, and red stripes. The background includes trees, parked cars, and townhouses.

This image is about queer play, mutual respect, and the kind of connection that doesn’t need words. We don’t live together—she lives closer to downtown—but this moment is ours. The Leather Pride flag honors the kink and leather communities that have always been part of LGBTQ+ resistance. The PRIDE USA flag reclaims national identity through a queer lens. These flags don’t just represent identity—they represent the joy of being fully seen and celebrated.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 21

For PRIDE 20th we honor Queer People of Color 🙌🏾🌈. Flying the Juneteenth flag 🌟 beside a QPOC Pride flag (rainbow with a fist ✊🏾). From Marsha P. to Audre Lorde, QPOC have led the way. Thank you, we celebrate you, we stand with you. #QPOCPride #PrideMonth

Two flags hang from the side of my house: the Juneteenth flag and the QPoC Pride flag. The Juneteenth flag — red and blue with a white arc and bursting star — commemorates June 19, 1865, when the last enslaved Black Americans in Galveston, TX were finally informed of their freedom. The QPoC Pride flag overlays a brown and black raised fist on the rainbow, symbolizing the leadership and resilience of queer people of color.

I fly these flags together to honor the legacy of Black queer leaders and to affirm that liberation must be intersectional. Juneteenth is not just a historical milestone — it’s a call to remember that freedom has always been delayed for Black Americans. And the QPoC Pride flag reminds us that queer people of color have always been central to our movements, even when they’ve been pushed to the margins.

This image doesn’t include people, but it’s deeply personal. These flags are a public declaration of values: justice, memory, and solidarity. ✊🏾🏳️‍🌈

I’m standing in front of my home, where I’ve raised two flags that speak to the heart of liberation. On one side, the Juneteenth flag — red and blue fields divided by a white arc, with a bursting white star at the center. It marks June 19, 1865, when the last enslaved Black Americans in Galveston, TX were finally told they were free. On the other side, the QPoC Pride flag — a rainbow backdrop with a bold brown and black raised fist in the center — a symbol of queer people of color and the deep, often overlooked, connection between racial justice and LGBTQ+ liberation.

I fly these flags together to honor the legacy of Black queer leaders and to affirm that liberation must be intersectional. Juneteenth reminds us that freedom has always come late and at a cost for Black Americans. The QPoC Pride flag reminds us that queer people of color have always been at the forefront of our movements — and too often erased from the narrative.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 21

PRIDE 19th - Happy Juneteenth!
The Juneteenth flag ✨ flies beside the Philly rainbow flag 🏳️‍🌈✊🏾. Honoring Black liberation at Pride – because Black history is queer history too. None of us are free until Black lives are free. #Juneteenth #Pride

Two flags fly from the porch of a brick house: the Juneteenth Flag and the Philadelphia Pride Flag. The Juneteenth Flag, designed by Ben Haith and refined by Lisa Jeanne Graf, features a red and blue background, a central white star, a nova burst, and a sweeping arc. It commemorates June 19, 1865—the day the last enslaved Black people in Texas were told they were free—and symbolizes a new beginning for Black Americans.

Next to it is the Philadelphia Pride Flag, introduced in 2017 by Amber Hikes and the City of Philadelphia. It adds black and brown stripes to the traditional rainbow to explicitly include Queer and Trans People of Color—those who have always been at the heart of LGBTQ+ resistance, yet too often pushed to the margins. This flag is a visual call to center racial justice within queer spaces.

The house has a light blue-green front door, green bushes, and a wooden awning. The flags are the centerpiece—flying side by side, they declare that Black liberation and queer liberation are not separate struggles. They are intertwined. This image is a quiet but powerful reminder: justice is intersectional, and visibility is a form of resistance.

I’m standing in front of my house in Texas, holding up a peace sign. Behind me, two flags fly side by side. On the left is the Philadelphia Pride Flag—rainbow stripes with black and brown added at the top to center and honor Queer People of Color. On the right is the Juneteenth Flag, with its red and blue field, white bursting star, and arc representing a new horizon. Honoring the date “June 19, 1865”, the day enslaved people in Texas were finally informed of their freedom.

These flags aren’t just fabric—they’re declarations. The Philly Pride Flag reminds us that the LGBTQ+ community must be accountable to its own racism, and that Black and Brown queer folks have always been at the heart of our movements. The Juneteenth Flag is a symbol of Black freedom, born in Texas, and still urgent today.

Together, these flags tell a story of liberation that is ongoing. Of how queer and Black histories are braided together. Of how we honor our ancestors by continuing the work. I fly them together because I believe in a future where none of us are free until all of us are free.

I’m standing in front of my home, beneath two flags that carry deep meaning. On the left is the Philadelphia Pride Flag, a version of the rainbow flag that includes black and brown stripes to honor Queer and Trans People of Color. Designed in 2017 by Amber Hikes and the Tierney agency, it was born out of a need to confront racism within LGBTQIA+ spaces and to affirm that Black and Brown queer lives matter. Each stripe has meaning: red for life, orange for healing, yellow for sunlight, green for nature, blue for harmony, violet for spirit—and black and brown for the QTPOC community that has always been at the heart of queer liberation.

To the right is the Juneteenth Flag, designed by Ben Haith and refined by Lisa Jeanne Graf. It features a bursting white star over a blue field, symbolizing freedom and a new beginning. The arc across the flag represents a new horizon, and the red beneath it symbolizes the blood shed by enslaved Black Americans. The date “June 19, 1865” marks the day when the last enslaved people in Texas were informed of their freedom—two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation. This flag is a sacred reminder of delayed justice and enduring resistance.

Together, these flags tell a story of intersectional liberation. They honor the Black roots of queer resistance and the ongoing fight for freedom in all its forms. I fly them with pride, with reverence, and with a deep commitment to justice.

I’m standing in front of my brick home, beneath two flags that speak to liberation and intersectionality. On the left is the Philadelphia Pride Flag, introduced in 2017 by Amber Hikes and the City of Philadelphia. It adds black and brown stripes to the traditional rainbow to explicitly include Queer and Trans People of Color—those who have always been at the heart of LGBTQ+ resistance, yet too often pushed to the margins. This flag is a visual call to center racial justice within queer spaces.

To the right is the Juneteenth Flag, designed by Ben Haith and refined by Lisa Jeanne Graf. Its red, white, and blue colors echo the U.S. flag, but its meaning is rooted in Black liberation. The bursting star represents freedom, the arc a new horizon, and the date “June 19, 1865” marks the day when the last enslaved Black people in Texas were told they were free—years after the Emancipation Proclamation.

Flying these flags together on Juneteenth is a deliberate act. It’s about honoring the legacy of Black queer leaders like *Lorraine Hansberry*, the first Black woman to have a play on Broadway—and a closeted lesbian who wrote about queerness under initials. It’s about remembering that the fight for freedom has always been intersectional. These flags aren’t just symbols—they’re commitments.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 19

Unified for liberation. Flags up: Juneteenth 🇺🇸 & Progress Pride 🤝🏳️‍🌈. Black, brown, queer, trans – our freedoms intertwine. Clasped hands on my flag = we won’t let each other go. Together, we rise. #Liberation #ProgressPride #Solidarity

"I’m standing outdoors beneath two flags that represent intertwined struggles for liberation. On the left, the Progress Pride Flag is mounted to my home's front stoop. Its rainbow stripes honor queer life—red for life, orange for healing, yellow for sunlight, green for nature, blue for harmony, violet for spirit. The left-pointing chevron includes black and brown stripes for LGBTQ+ people of color, and pink, white, and light blue for trans and nonbinary folks. Superimposed are two clasped hands—symbolizing solidarity, care, and coalition across difference. This flag is a call to action: to center those most marginalized in our movements for justice.

To the right, the Juneteenth Flag flies. Its central white star represents Texas and the freedom of Black Americans in all 50 states. The surrounding nova symbolizes a new beginning. The arc across the flag marks a new horizon, while the red beneath it honors the blood shed by enslaved Black Americans. The date “June 19, 1865” commemorates the day when the last enslaved people in Galveston, Texas were informed of their freedom—over two years after the Emancipation Proclamation.

These flags are not just symbols—they are declarations. Together, they speak to a vision of liberation that is intersectional, historical, and rooted in solidarity. I fly them together because our freedom is bound up in each other’s."

"Two flags fly from the porch of a brick house, each representing a different but deeply connected struggle for liberation. On the left, the variant Progress Pride Flag includes the traditional rainbow stripes—red for life, orange for healing, yellow for sunlight, green for nature, blue for harmony, violet for spirit—alongside a chevron of black and brown (for LGBTQ+ people of color) and pink, white, and light blue (for trans and nonbinary folks). Superimposed across the flag are two clasped hands, symbolizing solidarity, care, and coalition. This flag is a call to center those most marginalized in our movements for queer justice.

To the right, the Juneteenth Flag flies in red, white, and blue. Though partially obscured, its starburst and arc are visible—symbols of a new horizon and the freedom of Black Americans. The date “June 19, 1865” commemorates the day when the last enslaved people in Galveston, Texas were informed of their freedom—over two years after the Emancipation Proclamation.

These flags are not just symbols—they are declarations. Together, they transform this porch into a site of remembrance and resistance, affirming that queer and Black liberation are bound together in the struggle for justice."

Two flags fly from the front of a brick house with a green door, each representing a different but deeply connected struggle for liberation. On the left, a variant Progress Pride Flag includes the traditional rainbow stripes with a black power fist superimposed—centering Black queer resistance and the intersection of racial and LGBTQ+ justice. The fist is a symbol of strength, defiance, and solidarity, especially in the face of systemic oppression.To the right, the Juneteenth Flag flies in red, white, and blue. A white starburst at the center represents Texas and the freedom of Black Americans in all 50 states. The arc across the flag symbolizes a new horizon, and the red beneath it honors the blood shed in the fight for emancipation. The date “June 19, 1865” commemorates the day when the last enslaved people in Galveston, Texas were informed of their freedom—over two years after the Emancipation Proclamation.In the yard, a small sign reads “IT’S JUST LOVE” in rainbow-colored text—a quiet but powerful affirmation that love, in all its forms, is valid, sacred, and revolutionary.These flags and signs are not just symbols—they are declarations. Together, they transform this home into a site of remembrance, resistance, and radical welcome. They affirm that queer and Black liberation are bound together in the struggle for justice.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 18

Queer JOY = radical act. Today’s flags: Juneteenth 🇺🇸 + Drag Pride 💜👑💙. In spite of bigotry, drag queens & kings spread joy and magic – and that unity is power. We dance, we celebrate, we grow stronger. Our joy builds community & defies hate. #Pride #DragIsMagic

The Juneteenth flag still flies on the upper mount of my porch, and below it today I’ve raised the Drag Pride flag. Above, the Juneteenth flag’s blue and red halves and central white starburst are visible against the sky. Directly beneath it, the Drag Pride flag adds a burst of playful color: it has three horizontal stripes – a band of rich royal purple at the top, a bright white stripe in the middle, and a deep sky blue stripe at the bottom. Centered on the flag (overlapping the purple and white areas) is a large golden-yellow crown symbol. Around the crown, against the purple and blue background, are scattered small white five-point stars. The Drag Pride flag’s design is festive and eye-catching – the gold crown (symbolizing drag leadership and creativity) and the white stars (representing the many forms of drag) give it a whimsical, celebratory feel. The two flags together make an arresting image. The Juneteenth flag above carries historical weight, while just below it the Drag Pride flag brings a sense of exuberance. They wave together in the morning sun. This pairing symbolizes joy as both resistance and community-building. By flying the flamboyant Drag flag beneath the solemn Juneteenth flag, I’m connecting the idea that in oppressed communities, joy itself can be an act of resistance. The Drag Pride flag’s vibrant purple, shining crown, and stars radiate joy and self-expression – the kind of communal joy that has powerfully bonded and uplifted LGBTQ+ folks. Placed under the Juneteenth flag, it suggests that even as we honor past struggles, we also celebrate living proudly and joyfully. It’s a visually delightful scene on my porch: the serious freedom banner up high, and the whimsical drag banner below – together they affirm that finding joy and solidarity (like a drag show bringing people together) is a form of strength in the face of adversity.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 16

Liberation isn’t a line, it’s a web: tug one strand & the whole net moves. 🕸️ None of us are free until ALL of us are free. When we link arms across race, gender, orientation – we create unbreakable unity. That’s Pride. 🌈✊💜 #Intersectionality #PrideForAll #Juneteenth #IntersexPride

On the front porch of my home, two flags are displayed one above the other. On the right, the Juneteenth flag waves – its field is divided horizontally, deep blue on top and bright red on bottom, with a large white starburst centered where the colors meet. This Juneteenth flag’s colors echo the U.S. flag, and its starburst symbolizes a new dawn of freedom for Black Americans. Mounted to the left is the Intersex Pride flag – a solid golden-yellow banner with an unbroken purple circle in its center. The circle is unbroken and unornamented, set against the bright yellow field. It represents wholeness and the autonomy of intersex people (yellow and purple being colors free of gender association). Both flags catch the morning light. The Juneteenth flag’s star and arc glow against the blue sky, and the Intersex flag’s bold yellow and purple stand out vividly. Together, these two flags embody intersectionality – the overlapping of identities and struggles. The Juneteenth flag honors Black liberation from slavery, while the Intersex flag honors bodily autonomy and the visibility and rights of intersex individuals. Flying one beside the other on my porch, they send a powerful unified message: that racial justice and queer/intersex justice are interconnected. It’s a quiet neighborhood scene made profound – the flags’ bright colors and symbols speak volumes about solidarity at the intersections of identity.
Bellow the flags, I'm smiling broadly in a black, floral print top, mismatched mushroom earrings, and a necklace with a small magen david pendant in bi colors. I'm flashing the peace sign with my right hand, while my left hand rests on my hip.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 16

Intersectionality = no one left behind. Today I’m honoring how our struggles & freedoms connect. I flew the Juneteenth flag ✨ (freedom for Black Americans) and the Intersex flag 🟣⚪️ (freedom to be one’s whole self) together – because Black, queer, intersex, Jewish…we carry each other.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 16

❤️ Day 15 of Pride, I’m flying the Polysexual Pride flag (pink, green, blue) beside my “For All” U.S. flag. Microlabels (polysexual, demisexual, &+) give people BIG validation. Each a tiny flag of self-discovery—there’s no one-size-fits-all in love or gender. #YouDoYou #PrideForAll #Microlabels

I’m standing in front of my house, where two Pride flags fly from the porch. On the left is the Polysexual Pride flag—pink, green, and blue stripes representing attraction to women, nonbinary people, and men. On the right is the “For All” U.S. flag by Flags For Good. It keeps the blue field of stars but replaces the red and white stripes with a powerful spectrum: black and brown for racial justice, pink, blue, and white for trans inclusion, and rainbow for LGBTQ+ unity. This flag queers the American symbol, demanding that “liberty and justice for all” includes queer, trans, Black, and Brown lives. These flags aren’t just decoration—they’re declarations. I fly them for every polysexual person who’s been told their identity is “too complicated,” for every queer kid who needs to see themselves reflected in the world, and for every trans person who’s been told they don’t belong. We do belong. We are America, too.

Two Pride flags fly from the roof of my stoop, facing a walking path. On the left is the Polysexual Pride flag—pink, green, and blue stripes representing attraction to women, nonbinary people, and men. On the right is the “For All” U.S. flag by Flags For Good. It retains the blue field of stars but replaces the red and white stripes with a powerful spectrum: black and brown for racial justice, pink, blue, and white for trans inclusion, and rainbow for LGBTQ+ unity. These flags aren’t just symbols—they’re declarations. I fly them for every polysexual person who’s been told their identity is “too complicated,” for every queer kid who needs to see themselves reflected in the world, and for every trans person who’s been told they don’t belong. We do belong. We are America, too. These flags are my way of saying: you are seen, you are sacred, and you are not alone. And yes, I am that house on the block.

I’m standing in front of two Pride flags hanging outside my home. On the left is the Polysexual Pride Flag—pink, green, and blue stripes representing attraction to women, nonbinary people, and men, respectively. It’s a flag that lives in the in-between, honoring the fluidity of desire without demanding totality. On the right is the “For All” U.S. Flag by Flags For Good. It keeps the blue field of stars but replaces the red and white stripes with black and brown (for racial justice), light blue, pink, and white (for trans inclusion), and the rainbow (for LGBTQ+ unity). This flag queers the American symbol, demanding that “liberty and justice for all” actually mean all. These flags aren’t just fabric—they’re declarations. They say: this is a queer home, a just home, a home that believes in liberation for every body.

I’m standing outside my home, facing two flags that represent who I am and what I believe in. On the left is the Polysexual Pride Flag—pink, green, and blue stripes representing attraction to women, nonbinary people, and men. It’s a flag that honors the fluidity of desire and the complexity of identity. On the right is the “For All” U.S. Flag by Flags For Good. It keeps the blue field of stars but replaces the red and white stripes with black and brown (for racial justice), light blue, pink, and white (for trans inclusion), and the rainbow (for LGBTQ+ unity). This flag queers the American symbol, demanding that “liberty and justice for all” actually mean all. These flags don’t just fly—they speak. They say: this is a queer home, a just home, a home that believes in liberation for every body.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 15

Different flags, same message: You belong. We all belong. When we uplift each other, we all rise. ✊🌈 #Inclusion #Solidarity #AceVisibility #PrideForAll

I (she/fae) stand in front of my home next to my best friend and queer-romantic partner (she/they). I’m in a navy dress, she’s in orange. We’re both flashing peace signs. Behind us fly two flags: the Asexual Pride flag—black, gray, white, and purple—representing the ace spectrum and the strength of our community; and the “For All” US flag by Flags For Good, which queers the American flag with rainbow, trans, Black, and Brown stripes. These flags are not just symbols—they’re declarations. The “For All” flag is a visual intervention into nationalism, asserting that queer, trans, and BIPOC lives must be included in the promise of liberty and justice. The ace flag affirms the validity and visibility of asexual identities. A small garden flag in the yard reads “It’s just LOVE.” This photo is a moment of joy, resistance, and queer partnership—because love is political, and visibility is sacred.

I’m standing in front of a house with my queer-romantic partner (she/they), who’s wearing an orange dress and playfully pointing at me like she’s about to boop my nose. I’m in a dark navy blue dress, one hand on my hip, facing her with a smile. Behind us are three flags: the Asexual Pride flag, the “For All” US flag by Flags for Good, and a third flag not fully visible. The Asexual Pride flag—black, gray, white, and purple—represents asexuality and community. The “For All” US flag reimagines the American flag with rainbow, trans, and Black/Brown stripes, queering the national symbol to demand liberty and justice for all. This photo captures a moment of queer joy and love, grounded in visibility, resistance, and belonging.

I’m standing barefoot in front of a house with my queer-romantic partner (she/they), who’s in an orange dress with her hand resting gently on my shoulder. I’m in a navy blue dress, facing her, our eyes meeting in a moment of quiet queer intimacy. Behind us, two Pride flags fly: the Asexual Pride flag and the “For All” US flag by Flags for Good. The Asexual flag—black, gray, white, and purple—affirms ace identities and community. The “For All” flag queers the American flag, replacing red and white stripes with rainbow, trans, and Black/Brown stripes. It’s a visual intervention, asserting that liberty and justice must include queer, trans, Black, and Brown lives. Yard signs in front of the house echo this message of pride and inclusion. This photo captures a moment of queer love and resistance, grounded in visibility, community, and the radical act of being fully seen.

I’m standing barefoot on the grass next to my queer-romantic partner (she/they), both of us facing two flags flying above a house. I’m in a navy blue dress, she’s in orange. We each have our left hands on our hips and our right hands raised in salute, looking up at the flags. The flags are the Asexual Pride flag and the “For All” US flag by Flags for Good. The Asexual flag—black, gray, white, and purple—affirms ace identities and community. The “For All” flag queers the American flag, replacing red and white stripes with rainbow, trans, and Black/Brown stripes. It’s a visual intervention, asserting that liberty and justice must include queer, trans, Black, and Brown lives. A small garden flag near the entrance reads “It’s just LOVE” in rainbow-colored text. This photo captures a moment of queer reverence and pride, grounded in visibility, resistance, and the radical act of claiming space.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 15

❤️ Shabbat shalom, y'all! This 2nd sabbath of Pride I invite us to celebrate inclusion & solidarity, for we know None of us is free until All of us are free! In this spirit I fly the "For All" Us flag & the Asexual Pride flag ✊🌈

I hung two Pride flags outside my home. On the left is the Asexual Pride flag—four horizontal stripes in black, gray, white, and purple—representing the spectrum of asexual identities and the strength of our community. On the right is the "For All" US flag by Flags For Good. It retains the blue canton with 50 white stars but replaces the red and white stripes with a powerful gradient: black and brown for racial inclusion, pink, blue, and white for trans pride, and rainbow stripes for LGBTQ+ unity. This flag queers the American iconography, asserting that liberty and justice must include queer, trans, and BIPOC lives. It’s a bold, intersectional statement of belonging and resistance. These flags aren’t just fabric—they’re declarations of identity, solidarity, and hope. They say: we are here, we are proud, and we are part of this nation, too.

I (she/fae) stand in front of my home in a dark navy blue dress, flashing a peace sign with my right hand. Above me fly two flags: the Asexual Pride flag—black, gray, white, and purple—representing the ace spectrum and the strength of our community; and the “For All” US flag by Flags For Good, which queers the American flag with rainbow, trans, Black, and Brown stripes. These flags are not just symbols—they’re statements. The “For All” flag is a visual intervention into nationalism, asserting that queer, trans, and BIPOC lives must be included in the promise of liberty and justice. The ace flag affirms the validity and visibility of asexual identities. This photo is a moment of visibility, a gesture of peace, and a reminder that our homes can be sites of resistance and belonging.

This is my home—and that’s my best friend and queer-romantic partner Em (she/they) standing in front of it, arms outstretched in joy. She doesn’t live here, but we share a city, a life, and a love that defies easy categories. Above them hang two flags: the “For All” US flag by Flags For Good, which queers the American flag with rainbow, trans, Black, and Brown stripes to assert that liberty and justice must be for all; and the Asexual Pride flag, with black, gray, white, and purple stripes representing the ace spectrum. A small garden sign reads “It's just LOVE” in bright colors. This image is a snapshot of our shared values—queer visibility, intersectional pride, and chosen family. It’s about building a world where we don’t just survive, we thrive. Where our homes become declarations. Where love—queer, ace, defiant, and joyful—is not just accepted, but celebrated.

I (she/fae) stand barefoot on the sidewalk in front of my home, wearing a dark navy blue dress with buttons down the front. My left hand is on my hip, and my right hand is behind my head making bunny ears. I’m making a goofy face—because joy is part of resistance too. Above me fly two flags: the Asexual Pride flag—black, gray, white, and purple—representing the ace spectrum and the strength of our community; and the “For All” US flag by Flags For Good, which queers the American flag with rainbow, trans, Black, and Brown stripes. These flags are not just symbols—they’re statements. The “For All” flag is a visual intervention into nationalism, asserting that queer, trans, and BIPOC lives must be included in the promise of liberty and justice. The ace flag affirms the validity and visibility of asexual identities. This photo is a moment of visibility, playfulness, and pride—because being fully myself is a political act.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 14

🌈 Today I’m flying the “For All” U.S. flag alongside the Genderqueer Pride flag. Why? Because being free to be your authentic self is pure joy—for me, for you, for all. Every time we embrace who we really are, we give others permission to do the same ✨

I’m standing in front of my brick house, holding up a peace sign with both hands. On the porch behind me are two flags that reflect my values and identity. The flag on the left is the Genderqueer Pride flag, designed by Marilyn Roxie, with horizontal stripes in lavender, white, and dark chartreuse green. Lavender represents androgyny and queer identity, white symbolizes agender individuals, and green stands for those whose identities exist outside the binary. The flag on the right is the “For All” US flag by Flags For Good. It retains the blue field with 50 white stars but replaces the red and white stripes with a spectrum of LGBTQIA+ colors—black and brown for racial inclusion, pink, blue, and white for trans pride, and rainbow stripes for queer unity. These flags are not just symbols of identity—they are declarations of presence, resistance, and belonging. They assert that queer and trans people, especially those of us who are genderqueer and people of color, are part of the American story and deserve to be seen in every neighborhood.

I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of my brick house, wearing a plaid shirt and loose pants. Behind me are two flags that reflect my identity and values. On the left is the Genderqueer Pride flag, designed by Marilyn Roxie, with horizontal stripes in lavender, white, and dark chartreuse green. Lavender represents androgyny and queer identity, white symbolizes agender individuals, and green stands for those whose identities exist outside the binary. On the right is the “For All” US flag by Flags For Good. It retains the blue field with 50 white stars but replaces the red and white stripes with a spectrum of LGBTQIA+ colors—black and brown for racial inclusion, pink, blue, and white for trans pride, and rainbow stripes for queer unity. These flags are not just symbols—they are declarations of presence, resistance, and belonging. They assert that queer and trans people, especially those of us who are genderqueer and people of color, are part of the American story and deserve to be seen in every neighborhood.

Two Pride flags hang from a wooden structure in a suburban neighborhood. On the left is the Genderqueer Pride flag by Marilyn Roxie, featuring three horizontal stripes: lavender (top), white (middle), and dark chartreuse green (bottom). Lavender represents androgyny and queer identity, white symbolizes agender individuals, and green stands for those outside the gender binary. On the right is the “For All” US flag by Flags For Good. It retains the traditional blue canton with 50 white stars but replaces the red and white stripes with a gradient of Pride colors: black and brown (for racial inclusion), light blue, pink, and white (for transgender pride), and rainbow stripes (for LGBTQ+ unity). This hybrid flag reclaims American symbolism to assert queer inclusion, intersectionality, and national belonging. The flags are displayed in a peaceful residential setting with green lawns and parked cars, signaling visibility and pride in everyday life.

I’m standing outside my brick townhome, wearing a red plaid shirt and loose, green linen pants. Mounted to the wooden posts of the front stoop are two flags that reflect my identity and values. On the left is the Genderqueer Pride flag, designed by Marilyn Roxie, with horizontal stripes in lavender, white, and dark chartreuse green. Lavender represents androgyny and queer identity, white symbolizes agender individuals, and green stands for those whose identities exist outside the binary. On the right is the “For All” US flag by Flags For Good. It retains the blue field with 50 white stars but replaces the red and white stripes with a spectrum of LGBTQIA+ colors—black and brown for racial inclusion, pink, blue, and white for trans pride, and rainbow stripes for queer unity. As a queer, Jewish trans woman, these flags are not just symbols—they are declarations. They assert that people like me belong in every neighborhood, in every story, and in the national narrative. This is what it looks like to live visibly, to resist erasure, and to claim space with pride.

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Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה @enbyneer.bsky.social · Jun 13

Real love creates real family. ❤️ Today I’m celebrating chosen family! I’ve raised the Polyamory Pride flag to fly beside my “For All” US flag! Whether it’s friends who become siblings or partners beyond the pair, family is more than blood–it’s love by choice. #ChosenFamily #Polyamory

In front of my home, two flags fly side by side celebrating Chosen Family & Belonging. On the right is an inclusive “For All” U.S. flag: the familiar blue canton with 50 stars remains, but the stripes are replaced by a rainbow of colors (including black and brown at the top for communities of color, then light blue, pink, and white for the trans community, followed by the classic rainbow shades). It visually declares “Liberty & Justice FOR ALL” by representing racial, gender, and sexual diversity. On the left, the Polyamory Pride flag adds its message of open love: it has three bold horizontal stripes — blue on top, magenta in the middle, and purple at the bottom. On the hoist side, a large white chevron points rightward (forward), symbolizing growth and forward progress, and inside this chevron sits a gold heart. The heart signifies that love (in all forms) is at the core of polyamory, while the flag’s colors stand for honesty (blue), desire/love (magenta), and unity & perseverance (purple). Both flags wave under a stormy sky, yet their colors are bright. Together they illustrate the day’s theme: that we all belong in the communities we live in and the embrace of non-traditional family structures, side by side.

I’m taking a selfie in front of my porch, smiling with two flags behind me, symbolizing chosen family. I wear a dark blue shirt with glitter and Tinkerbell. Behind me on the right, the “For All” U.S. flag waves – its stripes are replaced by rainbow-spectrum colors (black, brown, light blue, pink, white, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple) representing inclusivity for all Americans, especially LGBTQ+ folks and people of color. On the left is the Polyamory Pride flag. You can see its tricolor stripes: blue at the top, magenta in the middle, and purple at the bottom. On the left side of that flag, a white chevron with a prominent gold heart inside points toward the center. The image blends my personal presence with the symbols: one flag affirming everyone belongs in our national community, the other celebrating loving networks (polyamorous chosen families) built on honesty and consent. My expression is happy and proud, embodying the day’s message that families come in many forms.

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