Taking My Breath Away…

This is my favorite work of art.

It’s Romare Bearden’s Reclining Nude, a portrait that shows beauty at its finest. I love this portrait not only because its eroticism, but it portrays a beautiful, voluptuous Black woman in all her glory.

I first saw this work of art at Atlanta’s High Museum of Art, where the late artist’s work was featured in an exhibit. Before this show, I wasn’t that familiar with his repertoiree. Every showpiece was full of color and emotion, but it was this painting that took my breath away.

Enjoy it.



Diary of Mad Black Lesbian: It’s Nunya Business

diary21.jpgAs I said in my last post, I’ve been dating someone new. It’s still fresh, in the “getting to know all about each other” stage, that fragile, fun time where learning everything about her is exciting.

In my exuberance, I’ve been telling one of my friends, “Fancy,” all about my new crush. Gushing at certain points, but telling her how I like this woman. I preface this by saying I’ve only recently come out to her.

Like only a month ago.

Granted, Fancy’s known about my preference for years. Although most discussions about it have been behind my back and not to my face.

At 19, when I first decided I would pursue dating women (after a few years of self-denial), it wasn’t something I shared with anyone. My dating life was my own, mainly because I was still coming to terms with it myself. I began talking to women online, meeting them only when I was truly comfortable with doing so. It was when I first kissed one of these women that I knew I couldn’t deny that I loved women. That first sweet kiss told me everything that I needed to know.

Telling my friends, however, was another issue entirely. Even though I knew being gay was something I couldn’t get out of my system, I was still struggling internally. I knew my friends would understand (or some of them would), but I still had to figure out some things for myself.

Which lead to the talk about my romantic life.

To them, I guess, it looked suspicious how I never seemed to have a boyfriend all four of my undergrad years. But I was dating…just not telling them about it. I wasn’t alone. Now this was college and everybody experimented, and I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t spilling his cup of tea. Several of my other friends were right along in that closet with me, us splitting the rent in that tight space for years.

It lead to many gossip sessions amongst each other, one of us cracking jokes about how Charlie sure spent a lot of time with his “cousin,” who then later became his “friend,” then eventually his “partner.” The gay jokes were flying fast and furious, and I’ll even admit I participated.

Eventually after college, I fell in love. With a woman. “Malibu” was the first woman I truly felt love for, a person I almost considered spending the rest of my life with. It was my first serious relationship, and I kept it very guarded. My friends knew I was seeing someone, but I just hadn’t told them who. At least not yet.

That’s when the gossip about me began. I found out, years later, after coming out to several people close to me. Fancy wasn’t the last one on my list to be told, but to me, it was simply an understanding. She knew, so what did I really need to confess?

The time it takes for person to come out varies. For some, they come out of the womb screaming, “I’m here, and I’m queer!” (One friend immediately comes to mind). For others, it’s a long process. I can’t comment on any else’s experience, but it was something I always knew but tried to regress. I knew being a lesbian wasn’t readily accepted by society, and tried to put thoughts of loving a woman out of my mind. It never worked, though. This is who I am.

But I wasn’t about to be put on anyone’s timetable with my sexuality. It was too important for me. Certain friends got told when it was right for me to do so. Not like some others. Because of our blabbing, a couple of people’s tea got spilled before it was even poured.

I’m of the belief that you shouldn’t have to drag anyone from the closet, it’s whenever they feel it’s time for them to open the door.

Until then, don’t try to come in. It’s dark in there.

Taking Time for Me

I’ve been laying low as of late.

Some of my friends haven’t seen me in a hot minute, and for that I’m sorry. Lately, I’ve had a “Take Time for Me” attitude and when I get that feeling, I have to heed it. This usually involves sleeping, hanging out at my favorite bookstore, watching old Sex and the City episodes, or simply driving with no place really to go. These things relax during a time when I don’t want to pick up the phone or be bothered with anyone.

When I get to regroup, I think about the path my life has taken and where to go next. I am proud of what I’ve accomplished and can safely say I live my life with no regrets. Everything that I’ve endured has lead me to where I am now. Even my mistakes have taught me something.

On the relationship front, I’m not quite sure where to begin. I have at least one new possibility but we’re taking it slow. It’s nice to have this time to think about what I want out of our ever-growing friendship. I don’t want to rush into anything.

Work has had me on the go, especially since I’ve gotten some more responsibilities. And dealing with stress of an 8-hour day can definitely take it out of me sometimes.

All these things have contributed to my “Take Time for Me” time. So in case I’ve missed your call, I’m sorry. In case I haven’t dropped by in while, please understand.

It’s just a case of loving myself right now.