Page 171 of The Black Flamingo

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forget your name. It’s Marsha P. Johnson

smiling down on you. It’s an ancestry.

It’s a black queen who threw a brick

that built a movement. It’s building

yourself up from zero expectations.

It’s reviving your history. It’s surviving

the present. It’s devising the future.

It’s Afrofuturism. It’s Afrocentrism. It’s black,

black, blackity-black. It’s batty bwoy, sissy.

It’s queer, gay, and faggy. It’s yours

and it’s yours. It’s mine. It’s time to step

out of the shadows and into the spotlight.

I’m finishing my makeup

in the dressing room, everyone else is ready.

I’ve done my whole face

but I’m struggling with

gluing on my eyelashes.

Mzz B says, “Why didn’t you do them earlier?

You should always start with the eyes.”

I snap at them, “That’s easy for you

to say but you never actually taught us

about makeup. You said the makeup

doesn’t make our act.”

“Sure, honey,” says Mzz B,

“but any YouTube tutorial will tell you,

‘You always start with the eyes.’

That’s just the basics.”

“Well, I don’tknowthe basics!”

I scream. “You were supposed

to teach usthe basics, weren’t you?”

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