Not That Kind Of Sub-

Not that kind of sub-

Inktober day 3: Path

Just learned rats typically only live for two years. This is the worst day.

Stars’ Anachronism

Our first Queens had dark skin,

Liberated women that shone sovereign.

They ruled themselves with such poise and grace

That a man would dawn a crown to imitate;

Swann would emulate.

A drag:

Adopted that Grand Rag,

And we danced with the Queen.

“Female impersonators!” The peelers wailed, for these men were black;

Angry, unwell, downright criminal

In the eyes of the law and popular opinion:

We were dangerous.

And so we were in a dangerous position,

As cops called their shows riots,

And left, post-brutality, when they’d seen our pride abated.

But we’re still here.

Jump forward a hundred years.

Bisexual, lesbian, gay…

Those words once didn’t mean what they meant today.

So those brave, olden Femmes,

The hero, Butch women past,

They’d wear self-tailored suits, and call themselves Studs

When anyone asked.

And when people didn’t, they declared themselves, proud and sure,

Identified with slurs, because in spite of all they had to endure,

They weren’t about to let smallminded people tell us who we were.

The first Pride was a riot,

Because we were expected to stay quiet

When called burly and manly in that demeaning way,

As if to imply, our skin made them violent,

As if to say, their attraction made them improper!

All for being out before rights and riots,

They were told we were something devil-sent.

But we’re still here.

They were Black, queer, living in fear.

We are Black, queer, living in fear.

But thanks to them:

Marsh P, Silvia Rivera, Lady Chablis,

And every other equally grand black member of the LGBT;

We’ve become legends turned mainstream.

We aren’t just history.

We’re still here.

Wondering if the apathy is a depression symptom hours

Inktober day 5: Map