Wrong Person, Right Energy

Comedy died the night I realized my biggest hater was sitting front row.

There she was, my ex, arms crossed, ready to watch me bomb.

But here's the thing about drag queens, we turn pain into power. I strutted across

that stage like a phoenix in six inch heels, my feathered gown catching every spotlight

like armor made of rainbows. Each joke landed harder, each death drop

deeper. The audience roared. Then mid-set, she started laughing, tears streaming

down her face. After the show, she confessed something wild. She wasn't my ex

at all. Wrong person, right energy. We'd been strangers locked in an imaginary