Our Queer Kids

Between locker-slammed prophecies and

cafeteria psalms, they provide combinations

to ultraviolet funhouses —

Quantum superpositions of mascara and masks,

dancing through the liminal, on parade.

***

No more pejorative fairies in chrysalis cocoons,

who split our tongues on “oh-be-a-fine-girl” stars,

swallowing silver spoons of mercurial weight;

they’re as ancient as the hills,

yet fresh as morning glories breaking through

our windowsills.

***

Their bodies: sacred temples with washable-painted

owned slurs; they transform into prisms,

catching light stars on the edge of our existential

DNA, rain-coiled in tampered-with tubes

and our plebeian, useless paperweights.

***

In gymnasium diaspora, forbidden bathrooms

scatter among our boomer kin; they flush

through coruscate-coded signals flashing in our skies.

Each closet a universe, each squeal holds a sword —

They’re writing new mythologies, no archangels

came to proclaim.

***

Watch them shed their exoskeletons of shame,

each deadname a new bark etched in

triangle-tattoos, like bioluminescent inks

beneath their party lines.

***

And let them call us mother constellation; let them

call us strange; they’re hard-boned in sneakers,

orchestrating orchid metamorphoses so fast

we try to capture them, but--

***

Each of their heartbeats is a revolution; each of

their breaths, a warfare won,

as we paint ourselves in colors stolen from

Native binaries, in trees, bearing more strange fruit.

***

Yes, they sneak out of our suburban homes, paved

with stones thrown by lottery straights,

and no simple categorizations can be made

anymore. So, summon the supremist of courts.

***

With unshaven hearts and necks and hypotheses, they

loom into beings we never thought to name,

and they keep our dolls safe by unlocking doors —

coming to wash our feet in glitter.

***

The gods are very pleased.

Let us call upon our inner beasts and not

tame Pegasus wings.

***

Accept our queer kids, and find ourselves Here.