We met in rooms where curtains learned to close
on names the outside world refused to speak,
and built a space where coded language grows
from borrowed chairs and courage kept discreet.
A magazine was passed from hand to hand,
ink-stained proof that we were not alone,
each typed confession forming common land
beneath a world that claimed we had no home.
We learned to write ourselves into the air
with articles too careful to be safe,
yet still they carried something like a flare
through cities where the truth was out of place.
No banners then, no loud parade of claim—
just quiet pages daring to name a name.
-
Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Offline) - Published: June 7th, 2026 00:07
- Comment from author about the poem: Poem number 7 for Pride Month. This poem is about the Daughters of Bilitis, the first civil rights group for lesbians in the United States. For more context visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daughters_of_Bilitis
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: The Continuance of Us.
Offline)
Comments2
Hidden love marks this poetic sonnet very nicely written
Matthew, this really moved me. What stays with me is the quiet bravery at the heart of the poem. The passing of pages, the careful language, the creation of community in places where visibility carried risk...all of it speaks to people finding one another despite the pressures around them. The final turn lands beautifully because it honors those small acts of courage that helped make larger ones possible. Powerful work, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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