The House of Curiosity — A queer poem about acceptance and defiance
Is it a home? Who can say?
A shelter on every street corner in the world,
next to every gun shop and McDonald’s
For the confused and the questioning
For the weary and the lost
On the door, there will be a sign,
always posted; reading
“Help wanted; labels need not apply.”
Inside, you will find a labyrinth in which you can lose yourself.
Then find yourself again.
The same as you always were, yet changed by the journey.
Through the questions you asked along the way,
the paths you took
the dead ends you hit
and the revelations you found at the center.
Is it a home? Who can say?
In a place where coming and going are the same.
Perhaps a home is simply a place that resides in the mind,
Knowing you can always return.
When the cops come knocking,
We will welcome them.
The way we welcomed them into the Stonewall Inn:
with weapons, war cries,
and a streak of vengeance.
The House of Curiosity
Shall always stand.
