They Threw Bricks!
Today marks the anniversary of the Stonewall Uprising.
Not a party.
Not a parade.
Not your corporate-backed, rainbow-branded nonsense.
A riot.
A breaking point.
A sacred rupture in the silence forced on queer people for generations.
With Nothing Left to Lose
June 28, 1969
They fought back.
Black and brown trans women, drag queens, queers with nothing left to lose.
They threw bricks because nobody would hand them dignity.
They lit fires because we were dying quietly.
They chose noise over erasure.
Marsha.
Sylvia.
Stormé.
Countless others whose names we never got to learn because this country didn’t think we needed to know them.
We carry them.
We carry their chaos, their refusal, their brilliant, protective rage.
We carry it when we come out.
We carry it when we take up space.
We carry it when we live anyway.
Pride isn’t just a celebration. It’s a warding spell.
A reclamation.
A reminder that we never asked to be beaten into silence
and we will not go back to whispering.
For me, Pride is survival.
It’s my middle finger to a world that tried to bury me in shame.
It’s the bruise that turned into a banner.
It’s my queerness as spell work, as scream, as soft altar.
So today, I remember.
Today, I say thank you.
And today, I rage, beautifully, queerly, loudly.
We are not done.
We are not docile.
We are not ashamed.
And we are not going anywhere.
Happy Pride, my sacred rebels.
Keep the fire lit.
