Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה
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enbyneer.bsky.social
Krythe Elaine (she/they/fae) אליענה
@enbyneer.bsky.social
130 followers 130 following 110 posts
the enbyneer | AuDHD | 🇵🇸 Jewish ✡️ | queer bi/lez polyam enby trans girl | STEM professional | 18+ sometimes | anarcho-communist | texan
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enbyneer.bsky.social
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.
July 16, 2025 at 3:58 PM
enbyneer.bsky.social
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.
July 16, 2025 at 3:58 PM
enbyneer.bsky.social
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.
July 16, 2025 at 3:58 PM
enbyneer.bsky.social
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.
July 16, 2025 at 3:58 PM
enbyneer.bsky.social
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.
July 16, 2025 at 3:58 PM
enbyneer.bsky.social
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.
June 24, 2025 at 10:10 PM
enbyneer.bsky.social
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.
June 24, 2025 at 3:45 AM
enbyneer.bsky.social
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. 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. In the foreground, 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.
June 16, 2025 at 8:07 PM
enbyneer.bsky.social
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.
June 15, 2025 at 8:36 PM