Glitterbomb

The Poem

There are three of them.Same person.Three moments.One life.

The firstis in the shadowat the top of the stairs.You can barely see them —which is the point,which is the wholeof what the shadow means —the personwho existed fullybefore anyonewas allowedto know it,who stoodat the topof the staircaseof their own lifeand waitedin the specific darknessof someonewho knows exactlywho they areand has not yetbeen giventhe world’s permissionto be it.

The waitingtook years.The knowingwas always there.

The secondis on the stage.The fan.The red light.The full performanceof the selfthat was waitingin the shadow —not performanceas pretensebut performanceas arrival,the stageas the first placethe complete personfinally had roomto existin all directionssimultaneously,the bodysayingwhat the silencecouldn’t,the fanmovinglike punctuationat the endof a sentencethat tooka lifetimeto finish.

The fan, the red light

The thirdis in the foreground.Pink hair.Cigarette.The sunglassesof someonewho has seeneverythingthe light has to offerand has decidedto managetheir own exposurefrom now on.

Not the end —the after.The personwho gave everythingthe stage askedand is nowstandingin the quietof someonewho has nothingleft to proveand knows itand finds thatnot emptinessbut the first realpeacethey’ve ever felt.

Nothing left to prove

The pianos.Two of them,one on each side,the musicthat was alwaysunderneath everything —the structureof a lifethat was alwaysmore thanit was allowedto bein the spacesit was given,the instrumentthat played onthrough the shadowand the stageand the after,the constantbeneathall the changing.

Acceptance.You said thisis what everyone wants —not just the oneswho had to fightfor the rightto their own name,their own body,their own stage —everyone.

The personwho was toldthey were too muchor not enoughor the wrong coloror the wrong shapeor the wrong loveor the wrong story —all of usstanding in the shadowat the topof the stairsof our own liveswaiting for the worldto say:yes.You.Come in.There is roomfor exactlywho you are.

Cruel peoplemade you cautious.I understand this.The shadow at the topof the stairsis not always chosen —sometimes it’s the placeyou staybecause the peopleat the bottommade the descentfeel dangerous.

But the figuremade itto the stage.And thento the after —pink hair,cigarette,the specific dignityof someonewho survivedthe crueltyand the waitingand the performanceand came outthe other sideof all of itstillthemselves.

This is what couragelooks likefrom the inside —not the absence of fear,not the easy braveryof someonewho was nevermade to waitin the shadow —the braveryof the personwho waitedand descended anyway,who performedwhen performancewas the only wayto tell the truth,who arrivedat the afterwith their dignityintactand their pink hairdoingwhat it doesand the cigarette litand the pianosstill playingand the wholebeautifulruinedremadelifeglitteringin the lightit finallyearned.

I love dogs too.They never made anyonewait in the shadow.They never neededthe performance.They never withheldthe yes.They justshowed upand stayedand that wasalwaysenough —

which is,
it turns out,
all any of us
ever needed
anyone
to do.