O Sappho, Sweet Muse, you inspire me

The fragmented lines that scream of divinity

A love of violets, marble, and self-agency, 

And yet you remain a ghost in history.

 

 

 

O King david, the psalmist, your words will outlive me

And theologians will erase your sexuality.

Writing your misery into words of intimacy

Allowed me to keep faith that God still loves me

 

Anne Lister, the Colier, how your words call to me!

Though hidden in code, you were nothing of normality

Landowner and lover, your words inspire me

To seek pride, and not shame, in a world not made for me.

Oh Wilde, the playwright, I feel your words within me,

I too, have learned to love in secrecy.

And though they found you to be guilty,

I know that we do not love sinfully

 

Freddie Mercury, you get me

A showman and embracer of insecurity

Smiling in the face of those who are against me,

I blow them a kiss, know that I too, will break from obscurity.

 

Oh unwritten name made vague mystery,

I know that we’re part of the same secrecy

Our pasts intertwine, and our words, can’t you see?

We are the hidden inspiration in our own history.