Relationships
Once, being a tomboy was a way to gain male validation. When adolescence brought on emotion and curves that were harder to hide, an expanded view of what womanhood could look like also flourished.
I long to see my childhood on screen. No one is steeped in poverty and crime, or so bougie and disconnected they can’t kiki at the cookout.
Madge Yang’s multi-media collages depict nuances of the Asian American experience
Black men are supposed to be the ultimate image of strength and sex appeal. Linebackers and the Sexiest Man Alive. But, when is the linebacker allowed to cry? How does the Sexiest Man Alive express his honest insecurities about his image? For so many Black men, there’s no safe space to express this level of vulnerability.
I get all tangled up in your wires, mama
my dream had me on my knees
there are witnesses, they don’t howl
at night they don’t bark
their orders are written up
on a white board against black
hollowness inside your curved body.
I am a card-carrying member of the worry club. But I’m showing up in relationships as my whole self, flaws and all, and evolving outside the narrow margins of perfectionism brought on by the patriarchy.
We sat on the edge of the bed, in darkness, unsure of ourselves or how to proceed. I looked at him, and he looked back. Moments later, my face was wet. It was over. I was confused. Had I been kissed?
The other night I sat with my guy and had the talk. The talk you never want to have. That final talk. That talk where he is no longer my guy and I am no longer his girl.
I am a woman who was married to a woman. I am a divorced woman. I married a woman only my friends liked. I am a woman who spent five years in a marriage I thought would last a lifetime.
I walked outside and the summer air kissed my face like the greatest lover. Like it loved me the most. I closed my eyes and kissed it back. I loved how I felt on drugs.