Category: LGBTQ

For This Gay Couple: Love Is a Modern-Day Couch With Multicolored Throw Pillows

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Senryu 8 Parts

Chic: Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Darnell had confessed
the move strangled his whole heart
Tai broke all the rules

two men never loved
as hard and as heavy, but
joke’s on everyone

the walls had their smell
the floors held their footprints; life
had turned on its head

a modern-day couch
with multicolored pillows
stood between love birds

who would get the couch
who should get the couch and why
did they deserve it

Darnell paid for it
Tai took care of it and with
destroyed love, comes hate

condo keys returned
an empty living room groans
Darnell and Tai sob

for this gay couple
the couch meant more; it was love
and love built them up

condo keys returned
an empty living room groans
Darnell and Tai sob

Originally published in Prism & Pen via Medium

Dedicated Toย You

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Musical Selection: Drake|How About Now

A free verse audio poem

Photo by Ivana Cajina on Unsplash
Dedicated To You by Tremaine L. Loadholt

I have never been the type
to brag, so I wonโ€™t start now,
but I am okay.
No, really. I am the happiest
I have been, and it took pain,
death, grief, and moving
through your lookalikes to
know that I deserve this happiness.

People are telling me it
looks good on me, I wear it
well.
My smile still brightens up the room.
What did you used to call me?
โ€œSweet beauty,โ€ wasnโ€™t that it?
Because you said I was
โ€œbeautifulโ€ and โ€œsweetโ€, and it
used to be a dangerous combination.

And it still is.

But I know how to use
these tools nowโ€ฆ without you.
I know how to enjoy the little
things nowโ€ฆ without you.

I wonder what you tell the
kids about meโ€Šโ€”โ€Šwho Iโ€™ve now
become since we ainโ€™t
mingling around in the same
waters.
Will they embrace me if they
see me in public or would
they shun me and keep
it moving.

A friend of mine told me a few
weeks back, โ€œItโ€™s going to be
the constant thoughts about the
children thatโ€™s going to do you in.โ€

And she is right.

Because when youโ€™ve poured so much
of yourself and your love
into the children of someone
you loveโ€Šโ€”โ€Šsomeone you dreamt
would pick up and settle with
youโ€Šโ€”โ€Šhealing takes longer.

I love hard, so I hurt harder.
And I used to carry the hurt
on the tip of my tongue, 
and these days, I let my pain
splash the hurt over papyrus
and my fingers type the hurt
out via keys.
I ainโ€™t singing no blues.
I got joy deep down in my
heart, instead.

And itโ€™s because of you.
Itโ€™s because of getting over
you, and thatโ€™s a blessing.
You gave me a gift I did not
know I needed.
And now that it is here,
watch how quickly it blossomsโ€Šโ€”โ€Šif you can 
from where you are,
on your high horse.

I wish you well.
I always have.
I always will.
โ€Šโ€”โ€ŠDonโ€™t think you have
ever wanted me well, though.
And if you did, I was too
blind to see it.

ยฉ2019, The Universal Music Group, Drake: How About Now

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

At What Point Do Bi-women Tell the Voices In Their Head to Be Quiet?

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How does one spend five years with someone and still not know them?!

Photo by Ugochi U on Unsplash

Single, Black, independent bi-women hear voices, too.

Beatrice is a 36-year-old charge nurse in the OR for St. Agnes Memorial Hospital in Blue Lake Falls County. She is a sufferer of migraines, a prisoner to insomnia, and a magnet for bowed-leg men who donโ€™t know any better.

On the eve of her fifth anniversary of work, she began reminiscing about Mike. Mike with the double-dimpled cheeks, endless credit line, and badass walk. But . . . he was a stranger to commitment.

Why is it Mike?! Why would she think about him after the way he left things between them?

He still has two bags of clothing and a pair of shoes in my closet! The nerve of that man! He was supposed to come and get this shit months ago.

She looks around her somber bedroom for clues. Did he leave anything else? No. Just his voice.

And his voice, along with that of Charlie and Omairaโ€™s, seemed to play hopscotch in her mind multiple times per day.

Charlie scooped her heart right from her chest, licked the pain away that surrounded it, and added more. Intentionally or unintentionally, she still isnโ€™t sure.

Omaira had been a woman she met through a mutual friend (letโ€™s call her Sydnee), who thought she would like to try something different. And โ€œdifferentโ€ was perfect for her for five years.

Until it wasnโ€™t. Omaira gave Beatrice one last orgasm before stealing her vintage jewelry, three pairs of costly heels, and the spare key to her car. The carโ€Šโ€”โ€Šshe had taken to a local chop shop. Easy money.

She wouldnโ€™t find out Omaira had been battling kleptomania until weeks later. She spins the thought of it around in her head once again.

How does one spend five years with someone and still not know them?!

She hated this quality of hers; the knowing and unknowing of things she so casually continued to do. She wanted to hear something else. Anything other than their voices.

Needless to say, these were people she shouldnโ€™t be thinking about, but she was. And isnโ€™t that how love is sometimes?

It sneaks up on us in one of its best disguises, lures us in, carves out a piece of our heart, and then exits stage leftโ€Šโ€”โ€Šleaving us limp-lipped and unamused.

The alarm clock screeches. It is 06:00 AM. Another night without sleep. Another night without rest.

Another night of fighting those voices in her head.

Originally published in Prism & Pen via Medium.