God save everyone

 In the wake of decades of progress, the fight for LGBTQIA+ rights remains fraught with tension and division. As Pride celebrations grew, many marginalised voices, particularly transgender individuals, people of colour, and the poor, were too often sidelined, their struggles overshadowed by more mainstream, palatable narratives of queer identity. 

The women who sparked the Stonewall Riots, Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, and Stormé DeLarverie, were at the forefront of a revolution, but over time, their roles in the movement were often forgotten or erased. The movement they helped ignite was built on inclusion, on lifting up the voices that were most vulnerable, yet today, many of those same groups remain excluded from the Pride parade, from its funding, from its visibility.

If Marsha, Sylvia, and Stormé could see what Pride has become, what would they think? Would they feel pride in what has been achieved, or frustration at how their initial call for justice has been diluted by those who forgot the foundation they laid? This poem is an imagining of their response to the exclusion of the marginalised in a movement they helped start. 

If They Could See

If they could see the suits in the white halls,

the papers signed,

the voices raised in hatred,

they would not stand in silence.

Marsha would step forward,

heels clicking like a drumbeat,

her laugh a spark in the darkness,

fighting for every trans face forgotten.

You don’t erase us, she would say,

her hands filled with the names of those still silenced,

pushing back against every cruel word.

Sylvia’s fists would meet the stone walls,

her mouth sharp as a blade,

cutting through the rhetoric of hate.

She would shout,

This is not your war to win,

her voice a chorus of those

who never asked permission to be.

She would burn through the lies,

ignite a flame for the unseen.

Stormé would not bow her head,

her shoulders squared,

her voice low, fierce,

like the crack of thunder.

You won’t break us,

she’d say,

her gaze unwavering,

her fists ready for what comes.

She’d throw a punch into the air,

and it would land for every heart that has ever fought

for love that’s never asked for permission.

If they could see the world today,

they would not weep.

They would not kneel.

They would rise,

like they did at Stonewall,

and tear down the walls that tried to cage them.

For Marsha, for Sylvia, for Stormé,

the fight is always on,

always worth the cost,

always a fire burning,

never forgotten,

never erased.