Pass the Mic with Dre Wilkerson

Meet Dre Wilkerson, a 25-year-old artist and advocate whose reflections offer a powerful reminder: homelessness can happen to anyone, and speaking up can create change.

I’ve been in Baltimore pretty much my entire life. I live in Anne Arundel County, just south of the city.

Growing up, I was visually queer. Very feminine. I was called out for it but never redirected. I love the color pink because it’s soft and girly. It’s also a pretty intentionally rebellious favorite.

I like to tinker. I like to figure out how things work. I’m very artsy. I’m super into makeup, and I also love doing drag. My drag persona is Lauryn Order—as in Law and Order. Lauryn is the pop star that I’ve always wanted to be. It was really something to look forward to, something to bring a little light and a little joy to myself when things were going awfully, tremendously terrible.

"I choose radical optimism."

My parents were very political. My father was a pastor. There was one thing that he taught that has always rung true, even before my own experience: how people interact with homeless populations. It was never like, “This is the help that I’m offering, take it or leave it.” It was never that. It was, “I view you as a human.” That always stayed with me.

I’ve been on and off housing-unstable since about 2023. I’ve been couch surfing with a couple of friends. At one point, I was staying with my sister. For about a year and a half, I have been completely on my own, figuring it out.

I had the assumptions that we all do, that there are certain types of people who become housing unstable. Babes, life taught me very quickly that that is not always the case. A lot of us are closer to being in a situation similar to mine than we care to acknowledge or maybe even realize.

It is a very particular experience, not having people to just talk to if I wanted to. Humans are social creatures. We need that connection. There is like a layer of alienation that I guess you wouldn’t really think about. The less I have to depend on somebody else having the answers for me, the better I feel. But also, it’s a bit like, “Dre, come on now. You’re allowed to ask for help.”

I was just in D.C. for a national summit on homelessness and affordable housing. I’m still pretty new to advocacy, but I’m drawn to the grassroots, person-to-person, I-give-what-I-can-you-take-what-you-need aspect of it.

I don’t have the homes and the buildings to put people in. I don’t have the money to put in people’s pockets. But there are people who do, and all it really takes sometimes is hearing somebody’s story. If I find myself in a place where I do have the capacity, and that can make a difference, then why not?

I choose radical optimism. That doesn’t mean I’m never sad or angry or overwhelmed. The great moments, of course, we cherish those. But the sad moments, whether I acknowledge it or not, it’s happening. Eventually, babies, you gotta get up. This is not my last episode. I have to find out what happens next.

I want more people to understand that homelessness does not erase someone’s dignity, creativity, humor or humanity.

I’m still here. I’m still hopeful. And for now, that feels like enough.

“Pass the Mic” is a storytelling space featuring the voices and stories of people with a lived experience of homelessness.

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