Rainbow Fatigue

A spoken word by Tim Powers-Reed

There are days

when the rainbow feels

less like a promise

and more like a weight.

Not a closet—

no, I burned that long ago.

But still—

some days,

even the open air

feels thick with expectation.

You walk into the room,

and suddenly

you are

Representation.

Education.

Liberation.

A walking Wikipedia page

with glitter on your shoulders

and grace in your teeth.

They want the pride flag,

but not the protest.

They love the queerness,

as long as it’s curated,

palatable,

peppered with “you’re so brave”

instead of

“why the hell are you still fighting to exist?”

Some days

I don’t want to be

the teachable moment.

The radical softness.

The one who forgives

their bigotry

before they’ve even

offered an apology.

Some days

I’m tired of being

the rainbow.

Tired of being

“the gay pastor”

instead of just

the pastor.

Tired of being

the color

in their grayscale theology,

the token in the photo op,

the flavor in their bland.

I love who I am.

Make no mistake.

My queerness is holy.

My pronouns are prayer.

My love? A liturgy.

But some days—

some nights—

some quiet minutes before dawn—

I just want to be.

Not brave.

Not bold.

Not banner-waving.

Just… breathing.

Not having to explain

why I can’t watch that movie.

Why that joke stings.

Why your uncle’s “opinion”

feels like a knife

carved with scripture.

I want a world

where I don’t have to be

a walking curriculum,

a rainbow on demand,

a testimony of survival.

I want a world

where I can rest

without feeling like

I’m letting someone down.

Where my silence

is not surrender,

but Sabbath.

And I know,

deep down,

that I will still show up.

Still speak out.

Still shimmer

in all my sacred shades.

But tonight,

let me fold the rainbow

like a worn-out flag.

Let me lay it down

beside my bed.

Let me unclench.

And maybe

just maybe—

let me be

just Tim.

And that,

too,

be enough.