Passing Down the Bricks

Every day I wake up

Is dedicated

To those who came before me.

Who fought;

Who died;

To make my existence safer.

Only thinking twice

About holding hands in public.

Only getting too long looks

Instead of bats.

Every day that I claim my identity

I’m writing love letters to my elders.

Every breath- an act of resistance

Denied to so many.

I’m so incredibly thankful

For all who threw bricks.

For all who suffered.

For all who died too early.

I don’t feel shame

For those 25 years in the closet

And I know the elders

Aren’t any less proud.

They were loud

So we could take our time.

Every day that I wake up still carries a risk.

We can still get clocked.

Take the wrong street.

Kiss the right person

In the wrong town.

I will never stop thanking my elders

For planting the seeds

Of the garden they have left me to tend.

That garden is more beautiful

Than they could ever have dreamed.

So I’ll show my thanks by tending with care.

I’ll plant more seeds

And keep passing down the bricks.