I've Got Bruises Shaped Like Praise

When the world loves you for what you give, not who you are.

Nov 09, 2025

There’s a lyric in my new musical Speakeasy that guts me every time I sing it:

“I’ve got bruises shaped like praise,
and hope that hums on quieter days.”

It’s my favorite line I’ve ever written… because it’s not just about Merc, the queer emcee at the heart of my musical.
It’s about every queer person I know.
It’s about me.

The Price of Being “Loved”

When you’re the life of the party, the comic relief, the “inspiring” friend, the world will cheer for you… as long as you stay in your assigned role.

They’ll clap for your sparkle.
They’ll celebrate your resilience.
They’ll post your rainbow selfies every June.

But the second you stop performing?
The second you say, “That hurt me,” or “You can’t vote against my rights and still call it love,” the room goes quiet.

That’s the bruise.
It’s shaped like a compliment.

Conditional Love, Performative Acceptance

We live in a world obsessed with digestible queerness.
The kind that’s funny, fierce, fabulous. But never angry.
Never political. Never “too much.”

We’ve been trained to be palatable to survive.
To turn pain into punchlines.
To dazzle, disarm, and deflect.

But lately? I’m out of sparkle for people who only clap when it’s convenient.

Don’t cheer for me at Pride and vote for hate in November.
Don’t call me “brave” while your silence bankrolls my oppression.
Don’t love my art and ignore the life that made it necessary.

If your support ends where my humanity begins? Keep your applause.

The Bruise Beneath the Spotlight

Merc, the queer emcee in Speakeasy, understands this too well.
He’s the one who lights up the room… until it empties.
The glitter is armor; the laugh is a survival strategy.

But in his solo, All That I Am, he finally stops performing for approval.
He sings for himself.
For every queer soul who’s ever been adored but never fully seen.

“They call me charm, they call me sin,
they never ask what lies within.”

That’s not just a lyric.
That’s the queer experience in 14 words.

The Quiet Hope

And still… there’s that last line:

“Hope that hums on quieter days.”

Because we do keep hoping.
We keep loving.
We keep creating in the wreckage.

We find each other: the ones who see us not as decoration, but as devotion.
We build chosen families, loud art, and a kind of joy that can’t be killed.

That’s queer survival.
That’s messy reinvention.

It’s saying: You don’t get to clap for me if you won’t care for me.
It’s saying: I’m done shrinking my light to fit your comfort.
It’s saying: I am all that I am… and I’m here to stay.

🎭 Behind Broadway: When Queer Characters Step Out of the Wings

This week’s Behind Broadway deep dive explores exactly that moment: when queer Broadway characters stop being sidekicks and take center stage.

From La Cage aux Folles to Hedwig to The Color Purple to Speakeasy, these characters aren’t metaphors anymore. They’re revolutions in heels, sequins, and heartbreak.

Read: All That I Am: When Queer Broadway Characters Refuse to Stay Supporting

Watch the full lyric video for All That I Am