What did we see in the ball?
Chin up, lips pout, you proudly announced your name:
House of Xtravaganza, Overness, Pendavis, Saint Laurent, Dupree, Adonis, LaMay
Mother of the House made her name by opening wide her white mink coat to shelter clueless, listless, homeless waifs
let them find some warmth under her coat’s silver lining
Liz Taylor was famous, so was Mother Pepper LaBeija
What did we tell in the ball? Butch queen in drag first time at the ball?
Reading came first: flirt with passive aggressiveness, simmer a pot of anger
Shade later arrived to knock frienemies out, get’em anyway, hit’em below the belt—
“I don’t have to tell you’re ugly, but I don’t have to tell you because you know you’re ugly. [1]
But never punch a girl on her nose
Nor drag a bitch’s hair to mop the floor
Houses were street gangs
Competitions morphed into war
We popped, spinned, dipped, and vogued.
High. Physical High. Seductive High. Addictive High
Good Vibe
Dance moves crafted honorable and stylish battles
Two hands squaring cheekbones marked an eternal close-up—we were always ready
Who did we want to be in the ball?
Judges might pull their 10s to work ego boost for us
Outside the auditorium, we knew we could never vogue like Naomi or Paulina
Fabulous extravaganza and movable feast ninja
were mirages everyone stared at, attracted to, hardly lived on
REALNESS—Life on the piers in West Chelsea was to live and learn
Clients satisfied with our petit bones, licked our silky skin
Wined and dinned for us acting demure
But be careful—
Never let those dirty fingernails move down and dig; they always freaked out afterwards; beat us up
And we had to jump off to fire escapes. Forgot the 40 bucks left behind.
Nobody was really protected
Mother could only put on her mascara and hoped for the best
Only in the ball could we laugh our vaginas off
With push-up bras, bruise proof purple eye shadows, and right-sided buttons---
We were at wonderland, nurtured and worshipped like nobody’s business
The ballroom told us we were somebody
Until nasty bastards strangled us to death and hid our body under the mattress in some dingy hotel at West Chelsea—
for FOUR days
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