Listen up.
They told us to quiet down.
To fold ourselves into corners.
To soften our edges, straighten our curves,
and blend into the walls.
But we don’t shrink.
We expand.
We take up space,
and then we take up more.
We are QUEER.
Bold. Brilliant. Unshaken.
Not half of anything—
Whole. Complete. Divine.
They said,
“Don’t wear that.”
“Don’t walk that way.”
“Don’t love like that.”
We did it anyway.
And look at us now.
Glowing. Unstoppable.
Every step we take is a revolution.
Baby, we were born loud.
So let them choke on the sound of our joy.
Let them flinch at the flash of our color.
Let them run from the fire we carry in our chests.
Because this world?
It wasn’t built for us.
But we’re here anyway.
And we’re not asking for permission.
We kiss in the daylight.
We hold hands without fear.
We build families,
with blood and without.
We love,
out loud and on purpose.
So listen closely:
We are not your secrets.
We are not your sin.
We are not here to make you comfortable.
We are the storm you feared,
and the sun that followed.
We are every rule broken,
every ceiling shattered,
every closet door ripped from its hinges.
We are the children.
Every letter of the rainbow,
every shade of skin,
every scar turned into armor.
But we are also the whispers of those who never made it here.
The names they refused to speak.
The souls stolen by hate, by fear, by silence.
We dance for them.
We fight for them.
We live for them.
Every breath we take is a promise:
You will not be forgotten.
So when we rise—
and we will rise—
we rise carrying every voice that was stolen,
every light that was dimmed too soon.
We are the children.
The living, the lost, the unstoppable.
And in their memory,
we love harder.
We shine brighter.
We stand taller.
Because they paved this road with their blood,
and we?
We walk it free.
