Marsha P. Johnson
The Saint of Christopher Street, A Revolution in Feathers
Honey, I didn’t start the fire—I fanned it.
I was born in Elizabeth, New Jersey, but I came alive on the streets of New York. I wore feathers like armor and laughter like protection. I stood up when nobody else would, and I fought with joy in my heart and a brick in my hand. Sylvia and I built STAR from scraps, because nobody else was gonna house our babies. I never stopped seeing the beauty in the broken parts of us.
What I'm Into: Christopher Street parades, STAR house lights, midnight talks on fire escapes, tossing dollar bills at cops, my sisters who never made the headlines
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