je ne se qua

The way you walk into the room

Walk out of the room

Grabs me

Makes me pay attention

Even though most of the time I avoid eye contact

I avoid smiling

I avoid you

Even though being in the same space

does something to me

Not in some carnal or sexualized way

it's subliminal 

it soothes me

Calms me

Makes me sit up taller

Embrace the power that I sometimes camouflage with doubt/ambiguity/nonchalantness

erase the intensity from my eyes 

Cause most folks say I can be overpowering

To intense

A little too

Much

In any type of interaction

I usually dominate, dismantle, disrupt preconceived notions

Shake understandings of femininity wrapped up in lesbian sensibility

But this time I found myself slightly caught off guard

My foundation while solid has been shook

And the sky don’t look as bright anymore

Delusions don’t work anymore

I don’t want to be responsible, respectable and reserved anymore

But I do

I remain calm steady alert

Maintain my iron maiden demeanor and pursue peace not war

Even when it seems like the peace is slowly leaving me

But I know

I know

I know

I know that kindred spirits often remind you of home

Of belonging

Make you believe

And reflect on nostalgic

The memory of how simple things could be

When pages of the book are in sequence

And on the same shelf

Instead of separated by the passage of time

Or the lack of

Notice the Label, but Focus on the Ingredients

Ever since I entered the life I have been fascinated, disgusted and confused about labels with the black lesbian gay community. I emphasize the BLACK GAY community because lesbians tend to differ based on cultural differences. For sistahs, there tends to be a strong school of thought that supports a traditional butch/femme identity. Coming into the life you are admonished that you "fit into" a box. Sometimes you are able to make that decision, but mist times it is other people's perceptions which place you in a category.

For instance, last week I was talking to one of my friends who self identifies as a stud. She told me that I was very girly because I wore a dress. From her perspective, I could only be a femme and no matter how I acted or perceived myself I was placed into the femme box. So my friend goes on to tell me that because I like to cook and I like chivalry and occasional whiffs of cologne that I must be a femme. Femme to her is the opposite of stud which is the category that she would place herself in, even though I remember when she wore skirts, had a permed hair cut like Toni Braxton. Now she is that dude. But not really that dude...but you get my drift

So over the course of an hour we talked and debated over roles and labels. She didn't back down from her original statement. But she did eventually admit that perhaps I was more feminine then femme. When I mentioned that I saw myself differently, felt like I had a few traces of masculinity, she smirked. Even though we were talking on the phone I coudl see her shaking her head. "Impossible" she said, "You wear dresses. I don't wear dresses so I'm masculine. You are not." It's not like I am trying to insert myself into her boys club, but I don't think subscribing to the sisterhood of femme embodies me.

Femme to me is Beyonce walking along the beach in six inch heels, women who demand that you take care of them, young girls at the club dry grinding in spandex with baby butches, etc. You get my point.

Then there is Stud. Hmmm they are adolescent versions of gay women. I won't even say that studs are the pre cursors to butches, cause I know alot of refined, cultivated and well mannered butch women who embrace the masculinity without the coonery. When I was 22 and hanging out, it was cool to see a girl in a wife beater and cargoes. Sometimes I would throw on my army cargo pants, a fitted T and a hat and thug it out myself. But even in that moment that I embodied a boi, I recognized it as more of a performance than anything else. I did not assume that at 32,34, 36 etc it would be cool for me to rock some Phat Farm shorts and Timberlands.

Not that there is anything wrong with dressing masculine. I have to give a big shout out to all my Banana Republic, Gap, Tommy Hilfiger, eclectic dressing women who are sophisticated with their style. Then there are those rare eclectic mixes of women who weave masculine and feminine elements into their entire being in a manner that belies defining. To me this is the true measure of freedom. They exist in a world of their own.

More to come.....

Between a Rock and A Hard Place

Somewhere in between my stud and my femme

I found you

now when i say I found you

I don't want you to take this personally and think that you were a product of internalized confusion

that I traded patriarchy for matriarchy

or that I was attempting to stitch together fragments of desire out of my sweet dreams and beautiful nightmares

Torn in between the two (mes)

torn in between the two ideologies

feeling like....walking like

Dressing like....being perceived like

Not fully fitting or wanting to fit into these rubix cubes of gender identities

My ambiguity

At first glance all people can really see is ...what they want to see

Not really understanding that I have moved beyond the labels

and I can't chain myself to their visions of who I am suppose to be

Fitting neatly into this tight box

the 1950s

It's not natural

It's not natural

It can't be natural?

biological

or in bred

like when they call they refer to their girls as "bois", sag they pants, suppress the fact that they bleed each month, and keep their girls Fancy on their minimum wages guarding beasts in cages

see

It's all so very natural and hierarchical

So no one notices.....

that even in business casual, linen and sundress

the swag is ever present

Or when the face is MAC-less

and hidden under the rim of brim

beauty radiates

femininity remains solid

and it it is

aggressive as hell

sexy and smooth

demure and dominant

calm and serene

it is so many things

AND THIS IS THE TRUE MEASURE OF BEING TRANSGRESSIVE

Cause we are so many things

and our ability to camouflage

removes you

removes me

removes us from simply being

stuck in between.

Tainted Ground

If you swallowed your pride and really thought about it

You would recognize that when I say I love you

It is not an empty promise that is meant to make you feel comfortable for this moment in time

Nor is it an empty stanza meant to get into your pants

I’ve been there and enjoyed it…so I don’t need to put down a deposit

see

This love has no obligation

I am here because I want to be

Not because you seduced me

got lucky

could buy me

See what I’m trying to say is---

if you really thought about all the time etc. etc. we have invested

And divided that by our ages and life experiences and the fact that I have seen some things and you have seen some things

You wouldn’t question

The blessing

that

You prayed for

And I prayed for

Asking God to answer your prayers

when what you prayed for is standing in front of your face

Can't you see?

Do you believe?

Not trying to be conceited or full of myself

But the truth of the matter is

My love goes deep

And yes a lot of people want to get to know me

Get close to me

Roam with me…

But I don’t see them

I only see you

See if only you knew

Stopped being so consumed with faceless demons

That

Deceived

Lied

Hurt

Betrayed

Cheated

Defeated

Polluted

Abused you

Left you with cuts, scrapes and bruises

Damaged you roots and prevented your branches from touching the sky

From being purified by the sun

Cause parts of you to grow unevenly

Wilting in the shade

Molds of Apprehension

Not to mention

Tension filled conversations

Where you ask me

Do you love me?

Which really mean “When ARE you gonna leave me?”

Which eventually translates into your own feelings of doubt that I am who I claim to be

how ya gonna fix it fix it fix it

I hear the theme music play in the background

even though I'm not the one that took away your sound

your ability to fly

you remain caged in

Planning futures

where our present remains scattered

Shattered by everything and everyone before you met me

Sirens on rocks who lured you with songs of forever

And as your ship headed to the shore

It hit rocks

Superficial catastrophes

And something inside of you is broke

Damaged the lil brown girl inside of you

Took all her hope that things might be different

Could be different

That you could be healed

Be fed

Be nourished

Be nurtured

Be healed

Be loved

Provided for

Unconditionally

Honestly

The way your mama loved you when she held you in her arms

After you gasped for your first breath of life

The way you loved me the first time we made love

I entered you

You entered me

and you knew

No Air...No Air?

As women we tend to submerge ourselves in relationship where our woman becomes our lover, girlfriend, best friend and confident. Meanwhile our other friends become tossed in the wind as we fall down the Rabbit Hole of love. Eventually, we come to a point in the relationship when we want to re-open old friendships and connect to the world. But what happens when one half of the partnership refuses to reconvene their former lives? What happens when love turns into co-dependency? And when quick trips to friends houses create three hour arguments where words like "neglect and selfish" are casually thrown around to justify an individual's need to put their partner on lock down.

At this point, you have two options: Give into the tantrum and cut off your life; or carry on as normal and face the impending drama. While you may love your woman, partner or spouse....sometimes you may have to fight for some air and space to breathe......

to be continued

Love is

She said she wanted a deeper definition of love

wanted to find someone who could fulfill and feed her spirit

make her life complete

give her nourishment

fix the shit that was broken

cause she had been broken into pieces

and scattered around and blown into the wind

tossed into the sea

then tossed into me

like a Hurricane

whip lashes

cause pain

but she called it love.