Confessions of a black drag queen trapped in a woman’s body, the poem
She went out
leaving a glitter trail to the club from the house
as long as she can dance, she will
for anything less is more
of a sin
than a celebration.
her home away from home
no matter where she
has always been
amongst the laughter and testosterone fuelled
land of glistening, gyrating beauties
she calls family.
it’s where she can be herself
in all the glory of sparkles, spangles, lashes and heels.
where no one asks if she’s a prostitute
or says she looks like a russian, whatever that means.
they don’t judge her. they only adore her and greet her with champagne.
ok, it’s only sparkling wine,
but it bubbles like champagne.
it bubbles like she does.
side note: Those are my birthday boots. My dear friend Steve surprised me with them from Ceasar and Randy’s vintage shop, Cherry . They do mail order to anywhere in the world. Of course the most fun is going there and playing. Open by appointment.