“Joy Is a Rebellion in Lipstick”

Subtitle: Because they never expected us to laugh this loud while tearing it all down

They wanted us

tired,

terrified,

too busy surviving

to dance.

But we put on music

anyway.

Loud.

Messy.

Holy.

Joy, here,

is not an escape—

it’s strategy.

It is stolen time

on stolen land,

turned into a feast

of sound and color.

It is girls in thrift-store gowns

spinning in protest.

It is queer love

unashamed on sidewalks.

It is disabled bodies

moving with pride,

not apology.

They told us

freedom came

only after

the work was done.

But what if joy

is the work?

What if laughter

is resistance?

What if smiling in a world

that wants you silenced

is the most defiant thing

you could ever do?

We hold each other’s hands

at rallies

and also in the grocery aisle.

We send memes

and bail money.

We light candles

and inboxes.

We know

it’s all part of the movement.

This joy is not performative.

It’s prophetic.

It does not ask permission.

It blooms

in spite of.

And it’s ours.

Every sparkle,

every shout,

every slice of cake

eaten with unrepentant glee.

They gave us cages.

We built dance floors.