Indigo Smith

We Who Have Dragged the Sun into the Sky

This one’s for everyone out there who somebody wants out of this world, and everyone who cares about us.
 
Let me tell you something.
It may seem a little hard to believe,
especially coming from someone like me,
some chronically ill lesbian college student,
a daughter of a daughter of immigrants.
Just, promise me you’ll listen, okay?
Let me tell you something.
 
They are so fucking scared of us.
 
Yes, of course they worry when we fight them, when we push back at the bigoted, brain-dead shit they say, when we stop putting up with them at family reunions, when we delete their phone numbers and kick them out of our lives and our heads and our country.
 
But it goes deeper than that.
 
They worry about us even when we’re not in the same room. Even when we’re not talking to, or even about them. Even when we’ve forgotten that they exist at all.
While we sleep, while we eat breakfast, while we haul baskets of laundry up the stairs.
While we thank the bus driver, while we listen to the rain fall, while we doodle in the margins.
Most of all, though,
they’re scared of us
when we help each other up,
when we cook each other dinner,
when we make each other laugh.
 
They’re scared of all the beautiful things we have.
They’re scared of all the beautiful things we are.
 
They can’t understand love
because no one’s ever tried to take it away from them.
They can’t understand home
because they’ve never had to find it somewhere far away-
never had to build it from scratch.
They have never felt the joy
of making their own world.
 
Instead,
they’ve forced themselves into uncomfortable, beige little boxes
because they think that everyone belongs there.
They’re miserable,
but because they’ve never known anything beyond that,
they want all of us to be miserable, too.
 
You know that musty, dusty old congressman who wants nothing more than to shut us up?
Every time we dance, he pisses himself in terror.
 
You know that bitter, divorced talk show host who only speaks in the same three unfunny jokes, recycled over and over?
Every time we do something cool, he drops to the ground and cries.
 
You know that creepy plastic CEO who’ll screw anyone over for a few more bucks that he doesn’t even need?
Every time we celebrate, he locks himself away in his solid gold panic room so that he can’t hear the sound of our laughter.
 
When our very existence is subversive,
when so many people are compelled to stick their fingers in their ears and go “LALALALA” at the sound of our name,
every single moment
is a middle finger to them.
Every time we wake up in the morning,
we prove them wrong.
Whenever we survive,
whenever we thrive,
that is fighting back.
That makes them scared.
 
They should be fucking scared
because they know that,
even when everything was fighting to keep us in the dark,
we dragged
the fucking sun
into the sky,
over and over
and we’ll do it again
however many times it takes
until it fucking sticks.