There must be joy
There must be happy stories, lustrous beginnings,
And giggling through juvenile nights, oodles of acceptance
Poured out even before we begin.
May we live to be around to weave them.

There must be euphoria, to fall out of prescriptions, and onto the street
To dazzle and bring the traffic to a halt. Brief moments of quiet through
The endless summer, without yearning without wanting anything, but now.

How silly would it be to wish away my queerness?
What do you mean tragic?
What do you mean grave?

This is the fantasy you haven’t had the chance to dream yet.
We don’t dream of petty escapes,
We addle in the lap of belonging.
Our stories won’t sit quivering in the corner.
Erase us?
We’ve challenged god
Simply by being here,
We can take care of his little pawns.
Picture me-
The lustrous devil, in a corset, dancing over fire, adding Pluto back to the solar system.

There must be stories where we take up space.
In your boardroom
In your artsy films
And your not so artsy films.

We will not pitifully cling
To your morsels of kindness.
Why would I center my story on coming out
When it’s you who pushed me in there?
I will center my gorgeous lover
Who’s eyes shine like stars.
I will center the ecstasy of having my boobs hidden enough
And of becoming who I am.