Let It Be Queer
They say,
“Not everything needs to be queer.”
And I laugh, sharp and bitter,
because for centuries,
everything was straight
by force.
By fire.
By blood.
They scorched the stories clean
of anything that dared
to kiss differently,
to love sideways,
to breathe without shame.
They straightened spines
with belts and broken bottles,
burned closets into coffins,
rewrote every story
with a boy-meets-girl ending,
and called it normal.
They ask why queerness is everywhere now,
like it hasn't always been,
hidden in margins,
coded in glances,
murmured in alleys.
As if queerness is an invasion,
not a reclamation.
As if we are not
dragging back the stolen colors,
the fragmented mirror-shards
of people who lived and died
without names or pronouns
that the world would allow.
Why does everything have to be queer now?
Because everything was queer once,
before they made us scrub the rainbow
from our skin.
Because boys wrote poetry
for each other under candlelight,
and women kissed in fields
when no one was watching,
and gods loved all kinds of bodies
before monotheism locked the doors.
Because the truth was always there,
tucked beneath
editors’ pens and straight actors’ faces
and censored scripts
and redacted diaries.
Because we are still fighting
to see ourselves in stories
that don’t end with death or betrayal.
Because when a queer character is joyful,
alive,
complex,
we hear the furious shatter
of another old rule breaking.
And yes,
maybe not everything needs to be queer,
but the air feels lighter
when some of it is.
When a boy holds a boy’s hand
on screen
and doesn’t let go.
When a girl finds her softness
in another girl’s eyes.
When nonbinary kids see
that the world might just
be big enough for them, too.
We are not taking over.
We are taking back.
They’ve had every story
for decades,
for centuries—
let us breathe in this one.