Brook Biggin

The Last Pink Unicorn

You know it. That feeling you get. When you know you’re the big, pink, fuckin’ unicorn sat at the end of the table. A giant placard hanging from atop your shiny horn: [insert minority]. Maybe you don’t. If so, this drinks to you – literally, I just took a swig from last night’s bottle, just for you. But for many others that feeling is all too familiar. The minority within the minority. The different to the different. I too know that feeling. Although you might not recognize it at first glance, I am not like the others. No, this unicorn, is poz as fuck; like, full-throttle, tiger-blooded, bring me to my people poz.

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