She was an exquisite kind of fine. The kind of beautiful that makes you look and never break your stare. You wouldn’t care who was watching. But it wasn’t her features that grabbed my attention as I stared at her across the overfilled train. It was the small gold hamsa that hung daintily from her wrist. It initiated our conversation. And me asking for her accompaniment to my favorite restaurant in the West Village on 8^th Ave. And her saying yes while she blushed beneath her perfectly applied make up. Mac. I could tell. It ended with me asking for her number, and her writing the combination of digits on a piece of bright yellow, unlined paper with a baby pink pen in blue ink. She purposely held my hand a little longer than she needed to. I didn’t mind at all.

After our fated encounter, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was it. Everything that I felt like I was missing. And not because I had some repressed fantasy to be with someone that was just like me. Not because I was bi-curious and was using this as an opportunity to find out how it really was to be with one of the same. I had been with many like me before, and many different than me as well. But she had a shyness that rendered her seemingly defenseless. And a ferocity that threatened to swallow me whole if I wasn’t careful.

And consume me she did. After our date to the dimly lit restaurant in the city. After the movie in Queens. After shopping and dinner in Long Island and late night personal sessions in Brooklyn. Those were my favorite. Her always wearing her Hello Kitty boy shorts. Her perfect mix of innocence and enticement. The epitome of her. The embodiment of everything that was so necessary for me during that time and in that space.

But as much as I loved my one in the same, I was that much ashamed of her. Not wanting her to hold my hand in public. Failing to reciprocate her perfectly placed, affectionate kisses in front of our friends. They all were aware. But I was too reluctant to demonstrate what they already knew. I was not her same lover, her same friend, her same partner when her four walls weren’t surrounding us. I cowered in fear when we weren’t protected by the privacy of closed doors and pulled blinds.

Eventually she grew tired of me. Her exceptional kind of fine turned into something I didn’t know how to handle. Into ignored phone calls. Into being stood up. Into boring days and excruciatingly lonely nights. Into a feeling I didn’t think could come from one of the same. Feelings I had reserved for those that were different. But relationships are not so different when the two people involved share the same softness. The same desires. The same vulnerabilities. The same hopes that it wouldn’t end as it always did this time.

She needed me to be different. She needed something constant. Something invariable. A person that was unchanging when she woke up cuddled against them in the morning and when she fell asleep in their arms at night. That would prove to her that not everyone was out to cause her anguish. She needed confirmation. The exception. Her salvation. But I disappointed her. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Because when she needed me to be different, I was more of the same. 

I was not searching for you when I put on my black maxi, fitted around my waist, gold collar around the neckline. I simply adored how it glittered in the sunlight. I loved how the detailing glowed perfectly against my melanin kissed skin.

I was not thinking about you when I put on my favorite diamond ear rings and pulled my hair into an immaculate school teacher bun. I just thought a lady only lets her husband see her with her hair down. It should be something reserved exclusively for him. The rest of humanity is only worthy of hair pulled up, tucked away, and pinned to perfection. Call me old fashioned.

I couldn’t have cared less about you when I made up my mind to wear my favorite pair of black Steve Madden wedges, gold buckles shining on the sides. I let my femininity devour me as I slipped my perfectly pedicured feet into that beautifully crafted shoe. I was just taking a moment to appreciate how amazing it felt to truly be all dolled up.

I had others on my mind when I set out to run my errands, clearly over dressed and underestimated. The silly little play things that engaged in the cat calling and hand grabbing as I walked past were simply not aware that I could rip their throats out without ever laying a hand on their pretty little heads. I was just sophisticated like that. I didn’t care about your existence because I was too wrapped up in being admired. Being coveted. Being wanted.

I, in my ignorance and self-centered unawareness, did not notice that my forever had been watching me, studying my arrogant gait. As I pretended to be consumed with the nothingness around me, I was oblivious to the fact that you were following me with the most sacred places of your heart. And the most wicked places of your imagination. I did not even deem you worthy enough for my glance. Your dirt stained hands, your oil filled shirt. Your thick, sweaty brown. My mysticism was too great for you. You were not even worthy of my gaze.

It’s funny how sometimes to find exactly what we’re looking for, we simply have to take our eyes off the ground and look up. And that I did. And there you were. And suddenly, someone that I had not even thought to acknowledge, a person that was invisible for all the moments that we had been standing in that place together, a person that longed for me even though I did not care who they were in this lifetime or who they will be in the next, this person had suddenly become the most important person in my entire life.

And he’s still here. Adoring me. Kissing me. Making me laugh. Filling me with the best parts of him and taking away the worst parts of me. He’s still here loving my pretty dresses and heels too high for me to walk it. My made up face and my perfectly manicured nails. He’s still here adulating me. Especially when I’m all dolled up. What a wonderful man. 

"We are the generation of / Not Being In Love /  And Not Being Together"

Umm....hello? Can anything truer every be spoken? Okay, I'm sure that it can, but this statement here is awesome. And let me be clear, 99.89% of the time, I cannot stand Drake and his whiney voice. But I felt him on this. It's like pulling teeth to get someone to claim you exclusively as their boyfriend or girlfriend. We use phrases like "oh we're just talking"  or "she's my friend" or that God awful phrase T-Pain popularized, the "shawty". It's clear that something is going on between you and whoever you are seeking to get romantically involved with, but the titles are absent, along with the expectation that the person remain faithful to you and practice all the behaviors someone courting you and seeking to enter an "adult" relationship with you should engage in. Let me simplify. They can get all the perks of you being their main squeeze without having to actually work for it.

All over Instagram and Facebook, we see people who practice these behaviors. But why? You know I have a theory. We imitate what we see and what we are surrounded by. Think about this. Aside from celebrities, how many Black people do you know that are married and are not separated or divorced? Now I challenge you to get to ten. One for each finger. Can you? If you can, awesome!! Leave a comment below and tell us about those marriages. If you cannot, you are not alone. I can count my dad's marriage, my mom's marriage (before her husband passed away), my fiancé's parents, two of his sisters, his brother, my old boss, and one other lady whom I adore. I got to eight. But half of my eight are people who are part of someone elses family. So you see my point? How are we supposed to get accurate examples of Black Love and marriage when so few real examples exist around us?

Another pit fall is the idea that Black women and men have unique issues standing in their way that inhibit them from practicing traditional marriage as we know it. This article on Centric raises the issue of whether Black marriages are destined for failure and also asks some great questions. One of them being: are Black women too picky? Now a while back, I did a blog post on Black women and their sometimes unrealistic expectations in regards to the Man List. You can check it out here. But I don't think Black women are too picky when it comes to things like wanting a man that can provide for and support her, wanting a man that is honest and doesn't play games, and wanting a man that is going to stick around. These are all things that go into a stable relationship. No one wants to be constantly guessing where they stand with someone they love and care about. And if you have these expectations, there is nothing wrong with you. Keep on pushing honey!

The Centric article also raised the question on whether or not Black men are able to be faithful. This is a can of worms that I will open in another blog post. But it all depends on what you mean by faithful. Do you want him to be with you and only you? And in what regards? Sexually? Mentally? Can a man still be completely faithful to you if he has kids outside of your relationship? Because he has to take into account your feelings, the children's feelings, and the feelings of the baby mother? These are all great questions. And honestly, before you can assess whether a man can be faithful to you, you have to first define what faithful is and what you're willing to accept. The short answer to this question is, yes. Black men can be faithful, no matter who they are. But they will only be faithful to a woman who they deem is worthy, and who makes it clear that this is her expectation. Period.

Let me say this. It is okay to fall in love. The world will not end. It's also okay to have your heart broken. And there's no shame in having your heart broken more than once. The purpose of dating is to see what's out there, find out who and what you like, and go from there. Every relationship is not going to work out. That's why there are so many songs about breaking up, moving on, and finding someone new. It's just the chance that we take when we put ourselves out there. Just like anything new, there's a chance you may fail. Your partner may cheat on you, they may lie to you, they may not live up to your expectations. And you know what you do? You move on and find someone else. There is absolutely no shame in that. You have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your price is an old cliché for a reason. There's some truth to it.

And in regards to marriage. It's not for everyone. But even if we don't elect to get married, we have to do a better job at showing our children loving, stable relationships. Why? Read this article on fatherless Black girls their difficulty learning how to love. If you decide that you want to just be physical with people, that's perfectly acceptable. But that doesn't mean that your children need to know every man that comes through your home. And that also doesn't mean that you have to air your dirty laundry for all to see. And if you're having some issues deciding whether the feelings toward your person of interest are Love or Lust, you can read this article to gain some clarity. We are surrounded by plenty of images of booty calls and one night stand. Once we reach that point in our lives where we are ready to settle down and make a home, we must make sure that we provide an alternative to the negative media images about Black families and Black homes so the next generation can see that falling in (Black) love is possible, and it most certainly can work.

Side Note 1: Slut shaming in the Black community is a major contributor to why so many Black women cannot find a man to settle down with. If you don't know what slut shaming is, Wikipedia offers a nice definition here. Slut shaming put in more popular terms is "you can't turn a ho into a housewife". Now I'm here to tell you that statement is so very false. And it's so very sexist. Everyone has a past. We all do wild and crazy things. The difference is that when a man does it and it is publicized, it doesn't hurt his chances of  going out and finding a wife. When a woman does it, no man wants to "wife the ho". To all you Ladies out there doing in like a brother, do you. You will find someone who doesn't care about your past. If you encounter a partner that isn't secure enough in himself to accept the fact that you had a life before him that you don't have to answer for, he's just not the guy for you, no matter how awesome he may be. You don't have to feel guilty about anything you've done. And that's a fact jack. Need some reassurance? Watch the Facebook video below.

I stole her wedding ring. On purpose. From right under her pretty little nose. While she slept, I snuck into her husband’s head and danced his favorite dance. As she worked to tie ends that he wasn’t man enough to make meet, he layed in my bed, buried by blue cotton sheets. I made sure he always had white pillow cases. He said they made him feel like a king. I liked dating royalty.

As she cut chicken and boiled pasta, he snuck away to enjoy my lips in the back of his car. My ass at our favorite gas station. Other parts of me in the Burger King parking lot. I slipped into her home when the lights were out, through hushed phone calls and late night text messages. I was there in the pocket of his size 34 waist dress pants, wearing only his favorite blue and white neck tie. I crept in on their anniversary dinner. Him saying he had to get to work. Something urgent had come up.

That’s when she suspected that someone had invaded her home. She started to smell the perfume on his collared shirts. She started to time his meetings. His golf games. His trips to the grocery store. She waited up for him one night. And asked him about the pink socks in his car that weren’t hers. Confronted him about the smell on his chin. He liked when I sat on his face. Naughty. She yelled that she never wore glitter, but there it was on the crotch of his pants.

And just like that I had slithered into her home and stole her wedding ring. She yanked it off her finger and tossed it at his head. And it was mine. To have and to hold. Until death do us part. Sneaky. Cunning. Clever. I wouldn’t say I was a thief, but I sure did have the ability to steal. Her life. Her sanity. Her peace of mind. I have it all. And she never saw it coming.

Now as I admire her platinum setting diamond ring on my left ring finger, it’s all so bitter sweet. I love this man. I’ve worked hard to make him mine. Plotted. Schemed. Waited patiently as the walls came crumbling down around her perfect like head. I had played my part and came out victorious. There was no better feeling. Until I began to wonder, who would be the bandit to come and make the walls fall in my own castle. When would my burglar come? Who is going to come and steal my wedding ring from me?

"Here is a man who loves me, and I love him, but he doesn't want to marry me. Here I am, a person that doesn't care about marriage, but I'm heartbroken that he doesn't want me as his wife............I should have just left him a long time ago when I saw the signs that he would never marry me." - The Girl Who Played With Men (Mielech)

Just close your eyes. There is nothing to see here. Only feel. Your jagged nails against my bare scalp as I bury my head between your velvet thighs. You’re so soft against my callused hands. So smooth against my roughness. Your hips rise and fall as my tongue flickers against the tiny piece of skin that holds the key to every single ounce of pleasure in your body.

You pull my hair.

You grab my shoulders.

You let me know that you’re feeling it. All with your eyes closed.

And when I finish, and your wetness threatens to drown me, I’ll rise and kiss your pink lips, covered with Sephora lip stain. You’ll pull me into you and I’ll let you. Pull me in baby. Tell me your dirtiest fantasies. Your most secret desires.

As you slip your tongue into my mouth, I’ll run my hands over your erect nipples, down your stomach, and back into your ocean. I’ll find my way over the waves and into the deep. Two fingers in and out of the rising tide. You moan your satisfaction to me. Telling me you’re feeling it. All with your eyes closed.

It’s a rhythm. Up and down. Your kisses. My sighs. Your moans. My grunts. Your hips. My hands. It’s me and you gorgeous. Me doing my very best to pleasure you. And by the way your body clenches and releases me every time I enter and exit your sacred places, I know I am doing one hell of a job.

You never told me with your soft lips that you loved it, but the way you gripped the sheets told me everything I needed to know. So many describe themselves as flawless, but you, here underneath me, with your back arched and your mouth open, you were the epitome of the word. Your rapid breathing and the way you parted your legs, allowing me to really explore your wetlands, let me know that you were feeling it.

So keep your eyes closed. Feel my lips all over your bare skin. Feel the affection in my hands. Feel the passion in my heart. Envision heaven in the darkness of your imagination. There was nothing to see in the blackness of our bedroom. So lover, keep those beautiful eyes closed.

I found the crumbled up piece of paper underneath our bed while gathering the dirty linen you refused to throw in our bedroom hamper. It just sat there. So unassuming. So patient. Waiting for someone, anyone, to come along and notice it was there. Waiting for someone to bring it back to life after it had been sentenced to damnation between Barbie Doll shoes and pink and purple sippy cups. I was happy to breath purpose into it once again.

I grabbed that little piece of yellow paper and tugged it open. Careful not to tear it and ruin the surprise it held inside. And a surprise it was. Your handwriting, sloppy and child like, revealing all the things your lips were too scared to say.

This is a booty call that went too far.

Maybe we’re rushing.

I never want to be broke again.

I can’t deal with you talking to your exes. Especially Him.

Is the baby mine?

Can I trust you?

Will you ever be able to trust me?

Not the words I had hoped for when I discovered the doorway into the secret places of your mind. But all the feelings, thoughts, emotions, fears, concerns, and uneasiness I knew you held in the pits of your existence were here in my hand, transcribed with black ink. All the things I knew you were thinking but I know you would never dare say. They were the scribbles of your brain and the confessions of your heart. So I decided to respond.

I don’t know if I really love you.

Everything you tell me I think is a lie.

I’m scared you’re going to leave me for someone more attractive.

We never should have had a child.

I lost my true self in you.

You’re a child trying to be an adult.

And with this I crumbled up the paper again and tossed it back under the bed. Perhaps you will find it while looking for the remote to watch football. Maybe our daughter will find it when her yellow ball rolls into the darkness of our bedroom. Maybe I’ll just tell you it’s there so we can have a conversation about why we are a married couple that cannot communicate outside of little scribbles on random pieces of paper. Or maybe I’ll just throw it in the trash so we can continue to pretend like we are perfect. That our insecurities do not exist and that we never think that our life, in this moment, is the biggest mistake we’ve ever made. 

I've never been the jealous type of girlfriend. I'm all for my significant other having friends, being friendly with girls, and even talking to their exes. My whole thing is, if she was really that great, he would still be with her and wouldn't be wasting his time with me. Period. Plus, I was not above having my own little thing going on. So he could do as he pleased because I was doing the same. But lately, I'm starting to get super duper paranoid. Maybe it's because I'm actually marrying the the guy I'm with now and I don't want any third parties in our relationship. Maybe it's because now I don't have my own thing on the side and it's just me and him rocking this out until death do us part (omg! that whole sentence just scared the shit out of me!). Can you tell I'm scared of marriage? 
So with all this being said, thoughts of snooping have sometimes crossed my mind. Let me define what I mean by snooping here. Going through your partner's phone while their asleep or in the shower? Snooping. Going through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, e-mails, etc. while your partner is not around because they left it open? Snooping. Going through phone records to see who your partner is calling and what number they contact most frequently? Snooping. Got it? Snooping is basically any attempt to get into your partners private information without their knowledge or consent. That's my definition. Plain and simple.
 Now based on what I've read online, girls are all about snooping!! Demanding that their man unlock his phone any and everywhere to allow her to go through his messages and pictures. Scrolling through his Facebook messages and Instagram DM's, which were created by the devil to ruin relationships, in order to see what he's been doing and who he's been talking to. And heaven forbid she finds something! Sweet baby Jesus. Hell and fury will rain down on his soul and he will forever be cursed with the nagging, insecure girlfriend. Gasp! 
But let's be honest here. When you go snooping, you're already looking to find something. You already have it set in your mind that they've been doing something and you're just looking for evidence to back you up. And I know your reasoning. If he has nothing to hide, I won't have anything to find. Snooping is just your way to make sure that everything is fine and you have nothing to worry about. If they haven't been doing anything than you can look all day long, get caught up on what's going on in their life, and have peace of mind that you and your partner are in a good space.
I have not known or heard of a case of snooping that turned out well. There have even been cases where snooping turned out to ruin the best surprise of your entire life. Check out an example here. And think about this. Even if he texts the cute neighbor across the street and she thanks him for helping her with her groceries, groceries that you saw him carry in, you swear that he kissed her on the way out of the house and that they're having an affair. And what happens when he says it's not true? You swear he's lying! You scream and yell at him. He thinks you're crazy and leaves your crazy behind alone. And rightfully so.
So I've boiled it down to two reasons why we snoop. Insecurities within yourself or lack of trust in your partner. Now for yourself, you have to work on that honey. If he chose to be with you, you're it. You have something that no other girl has and it's what he's looking for. Be proud. Now if you go through his stuff and he's still playing around with other people, obviously he hasn't chosen to be with you. He's chosen to lie to you to make you believe certain things to keep you around as an option. That is not a choice. So go on and let that man go. I know, sounds so simple right? I'm not dismissing that we get lonely and we want a companion. Plus he's cute and drives a nice car. But is it really worth the bullcrap he puts you through? The fights? The toll is takes on your sanity? I think not.
Now as for lack of trust in him, ya'll need to talk that out. If you find something while snooping that is incriminating, I'm not saying to hit the road. I don't believe in that once a cheater, always a cheater. We make mistakes. We're human. I am saying that you guys need to have a frank conversation about it and nip that in the bud. And if he lies about everything? Then you leave his sorry ass alone and keep it pushing. Why are you still lying? I never understand that. I CAUGHT YOU and you still can't come clean. From that point on, there is nothing more to be said. Bye bye Charlie. Hopefully whoever he was talking to on the side will be more understanding.
Now how do I feel about snooping? The crazy, paranoid, about to get married me is all for it. But the rational me thinks it's a no go. My fiance is an expert snooper. He can find anything. But there is nothing for him to find. There are no locks on any of my devices, he knows all of my passwords, and I never sign out of the accounts anyway. But even if I did, he would find a way to get into everything. As I stated before, I'm terrible at it. So I don't do it. I forget his unlock code when he shows me. I forget the passwords he gives me. I just don't care enough to snoop. I have better stuff to do. I'm busy. I have a full time job, I write two blogs, I have a two year old, and I am planning a wedding. I have shit to do. So snooping is nowhere on this agenda. 
And I don't think you should do it either. His phone on the table is not an invitation to go through and see what he's been doing. Ask. The way he answers the question will tell you everything that you need to know. Trust me. Simplify why you feel like you have to snoop and tie it into one of the reasons that I stated above. Then address it and decide if you want to continue with this behavior or trust your partner, address the issues within yourself, and enjoy your relationship. It is such a true statement that if you don't have trust you don't have anything. Take heed to those words.
So to all my expert snoopers out there, ahem ahem, stop. If your partner cannot be honest with you, then you don't need to be with them. We all get those moments when we feel like our partner is being too friendly with the sales girl or we get a knot in our stomach when their phone goes off at three in the morning and it's right there next to you. Unlocked. And the message flashes across the screen. Look at you! I know that light bulb just went off in your head. And I know you would look! It's time to start having some frank conversations. It's time to start putting the trust back into our relationships and the peace back into our homes. It's time to deal with insecurities and lack of pride within ourselves. Take baby steps. The next time you see your partner's Facebook open for all to see, walk slowly away from the screen. Nothing good can come of that.

My favorite moments with you are when we say nothing at all. The moments when your toes touch mine underneath the purple covers as we read our books on different subjects taking us to different worlds. No noise in the background. Just the sound of turning pages and slow, relaxed breathing.

I love the moments we share enclosed within those four automobile doors, saying nothing at all. Listening to the notes that escape out of your overpriced speakers. No noise needed. The sound of the engine going. The sound of the road beneath us. The sound of love dancing between our hearts.

I especially love the moments when it hits me. The bad days. The crippling days. The dark days that come without warning. That is when I love you the most. When you stare into my face, read the sadness in my eyes, and plant kisses along the same path where the tears fell. Those are the moments when I need you most. When you grab me and fall to the floor, holding me the entire way down. You don’t understand how much that means to me. How you help me out of hell with your silence. How you make me feel so loved. So safe. So secure. And you say nothing at all.

It’s not when you ask how my day was when you see the stress resting on my brow. It’s not when you surprise me with trinkets or flowers at work, making all the girls envious. It’s not when we dine at my favorite restaurant or even when you solve the riddle of my orgasm while we make love.

I love you the most in the moments when you say nothing at all. In those moments when your lips do no talking and you let your hands do the explaining. In those moments when the quietness of the room is filled with all the things you want to say. All the things I need to hear.

My God. How I love you. How I love the deafening silence. How I love your ability to decipher when to speak and when to bow. When to bark and when to kneel. When to roar and when to lay. You just know. This is the reason why, of everyone, you are the chosen. Because you understand that I understand you best, I hear you loudest, when you say nothing at all.

I surely would be in jail had anyone seen me. Peeking cautiously through a gap in our brown wooden fence. 
But here I was peeking. 
And there they were in their backyard. Engulfed in fresh flowers and unhindered lust. She wore an over sized white t-shirt. Her firm nipples peaking through the thin metal material. He wore black basketball shorts. His pudgy belly covering his elastic waist band and braided string. 
She kissed him repeatedly, as if to make sure that he was ready. And to absolutely guarantee that she was too. 
His hands were all over her. Up and down her legs. Over her shoulders. Through her hair. And especially on her bare behind. I was supposed to be watering my herb garden. A new thing I had started ever since my husband decided he was tired of the processed taste of supermarket food. What a hippie. 
But instead, here I was, watching this man slowly slip this white cotton tee over this woman's head and reveal her vulnerabilities to the world. No panties to cover her feminine parts. No top to cover the young perkiness that he was so eager to enjoy. He remain clothed, only pulling what he needed up over the top of his baggy shorts. Her naked and free. Him only giving and revealing what he wanted her to have. The part of him that would give him the most pleasure. What proved he was a man. 
More kisses shared and I realized that my sage was over-watered and my oregano was dry as a bone. But I didn't care. He has begun positioning his body under hers. Ready for lift off. Preparing to enter outer space and shoot straight for the moon and stars. 
He was so rough. But she was so obliging. And commanding. She wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her hips, and sat down on his pleasure stick. And so she began rocking them to heaven. Slowly. Surely. Confidently. 
I was hypnotized. I just couldn't make myself look away. Not even when I heard my husband come through the front door. They were moving with the rhythm of their own desires. Rocking to their own gratification. Her arms casually draped around his neck. His arms falling lower. His hands gripping her hips, squeezing her behind, causing the cheeks to turn red. 
My husband called my name and I felt the heat rising in my body. This gap in the fence  was consuming all of my thoughts. I was watching the body movements. Watching him rise to her buck. Watching her toes curl. Watching his fingers tremble. Watching her back arch. His chest rise and fall. Faster each time. She bites her lip. He pulls her closer. They dig deeper. Fly higher. Push harder. 
She finally verbalized her gratification. A low, throaty moan. I felt it deep down in the forbidden parts of my own womanhood. And in walked my husband. Not a moment too soon. Perfect. Passionate. Sexy. Edible. 
I gave him the eyes. 
didn't even say hello. He grabbed me. We dropped to the floor. Crushing all of the greenery beneath our weight. I was no longer concerned with the gap in the fence. I had my own zealous cries to make. Our love sounds and passion cries competed with those next to us. 
And quite frankly, there is no competition. 
Perhaps next week they will be peaking at us through that same gap in the fence. Staring. Gazing. Observing. Learning. Taking us all in. And they surely would see a few new things. My husband and I are great teachers. 
But for now, our chords and theirs would come together and create a beautiful symphony of love, affection, and sex. For now, we would prove that Black Love is alive and well. No competition. Just enjoyment. And we had just one for our naughty neighbors. Touché.

I have arrived. On the flight that you assigned me. To your side of reality. I have finally crossed over to the Promised Land. To the land of green overflow, fidelity, and security. It is where you have wanted me to be. You have force fed me all of the fairy tales and candy dreams and I am ready to reach the clouds with you. But I just have one question.

Where, My Love, are you?

You promised me white fences and the pitter patter of miniature feet. You swore to me that the wealth would spill over in abundance and my heart would never again know worry. I admit that I have been hesitant all of this time. Dissecting your words. Looking for holes and inconsistencies. There were many.

But you know what? I still traveled through the messy untruths and sticky infidelities to your side of the mountain. The bright side. The side where you told me to meet you. I have gotten to the peaceful part. The most joyous corner. Serenity. I am here. But where are you?

It’s silent here. Only the faint ringing in my ears remains. I’m listening intently for your voice. I’m looking around watching the breeze blow through the light green grass. The hope is keeping me going. The love makes me smile. Even though the loneliness wraps itself around my neck, threatening to choke me.

I’ve grown impatient. I’m ready to go now. But every time I go to leave, every time my feet begin to walk away towards that dreadful flight back to actuality, you appear and feed my soul again. You tell me you’re going to change. It’s a promise. You’re trying. Give you another chance. It will be different this time. It calms me. So I stay. And wait longer. And longer. Weeks. Months. Three long years. Waiting. Surviving off of the wishes and dreams that seem to drift further and further away from me.

Your words are repetitive. The reasons and excuses you give me no longer ease the hunger building in the most sacred parts of me. I have opened the door for you finally. But you did not walk in.

You’ve run out of chances with me. The arrival is now a departure. I’m leaving now. Evacuation time. Feed your love songs and tears to someone else.

I’ve already begun my journey back home. To the place I have known forever and missed so dearly. I’m headed back to me. And away from you.

I’ll remember you. Treat the next one better. Make sure when you send her to the land of picket fences and overflow, you meet her there. Don’t keep her waiting. Do better. We deserve it.

That’s my flight. It’s time for me to go. I’ll watch our world grow smaller as I ascend into the sky. Away from everything I ever hoped for. I’ll do better next time. Goodbye.

Before you get all squeemish and judgmental, remember this. In all of my posts I attempt to be fair and non-judgmental to everyone, unless your behaviors dictate that I should think otherwise. On sensitive subjects like this, I do my best to be judgment free. And you should be too. So take off your religious and social hats for the duration of this post and just read as a human being. Thank you.
I've gotten a few requests for this topic in the past but I wasn't sure that I wanted to address it. I was going to leave it alone until I saw this article in the August edition of Cosmopolitan (if you don't know by now, that's my favorite magazine!) stating that bisexuals have more health risks than those who identify as gay or straight. It claims that because of the stigma placed on bisexuals they are more prone to depression, violence, and sexually transmitted diseases. After reading this I decided to just take a stab at it. I started looking online at different articles and videos to help me gather my thoughts and figure out how I really felt about the matter. So here it goes.
Bisexuality is a tricky topic because many people think it simply doesn't exist. Bisexual people are either straight people that want to have sex with everyone or gay people that refuse to come out of the closet. This is what I see and hear whenever the topic is discussed. People use words like confused, promiscuous, experimenting, and loose. Some people use even harsher words than that. And truthfully, bisexuals are really not accepted by either community. It's like being mixed race. You don't really belong to either side. So how do you tackle a topic that most of society already feels so strongly about? Like this.
First, as always, let's define what I mean by bisexual. A bisexual person is one who is attracted physically or emotionally to members of both sexes. And no, that one time in college or that one time in band camp does not count. I mean a genuine, ongoing attraction. And I didn't get that from anywhere. I made that up all on my own. For a more thorough definition and a personal story dealing with bisexuality, head on over here. Bisexual people are neither gay nor straight, they just are. So we see where the complication comes in. In a world that forces us to put labels on everything and define every aspect or ourselves, it's really hard for a bi-sexual person to explain who they really are. I mean, they can't possibly be attracted to both sexes in the same way. They must prefer one over the other. But that's just it. They don't. Just like straight people have different preferences when it comes to what they look for in a partner, it's the same for a bi-sexual person. They are simply attracted to different people for different reasons. Nothing wrong with that. 
For me, bisexuality is more about being attracted to traits and genders than it is to the physical sex itself. Let me explain. We as women are mostly attracted to men because they display male traits such as dominance and strength. We often say we want a provider and a man that is independent and takes care of his own. Same thing for men. They are usually attracted to feminine traits such as beauty. Men want a woman that is nurturing, caring, emotional, and soft. Now I know these are very stereotypical traits. Please forgive me. Just follow along for the sake of argument. 
Bisexual women may be attracted to a man because they display predominantly male traits and attracted to a woman because she displays these traits as well. Same thing for a man. He may be attracted to women because he likes the nurturing, feminine side but he may also find these traits attractive in a man. Or you know what, bisexuals may like both traits because they themselves are a mixture of masculine and feminine qualities. Like every straight or gay person, every bisexual person is different and they choose to identity as bisexual for different reasons. The point is, I believe that it's less about the sex when it comes to sexual orientation and more about the attraction.
Now the issue becomes even more complex when you think about bisexual men vs. bisexual women. Bisexual women are often thought of as fast. They just want to sleep with everyone without discretion. And I often hear that their boyfriends automatically think it means they are going to have a threesome. It's sexy and sometimes even desirable. But not when it comes to men. Bisexual men are often thought of as a "closet" gay who are trying to cover it up by dating women. As this New York Times article put is, they are either straight, gay, or lying. There was even an experiment done that measured how bisexual men responded to gay and straight erotica by measuring genital response, also detailed in the New York Times article (link above). 
But honestly, measuring genital response means nothing. Bisexuality is so much more than how our private parts respond to sexual stimulation. It's about attraction. I mean, think about this. When you are in a relationship with someone, especially for a long period of time, eventually the physical part of the relationship starts to fade (omg!! say it ain't so!) and the emotional attraction you feel toward each other is what keeps it all together. It's why wise people tell you that you should date your best friend or why you often hear that you should be with someone your compatible with. Trey Songz said it in terms that some of you understand better. Sex ain't better than love. Because sex fades. It's your love and your emotional attachment to your partner that keeps everything alive. So can you really measure how someone feels about something based on their sexual response? I think not.
Okay, let's wrap this bad boy up. Bisexuality does exist. But it is much more complex than we think it is. Just because someone chooses to settle down with a man (or a woman) does not negate their attraction to both sexes. It's just who they chose. Alan Cumming best sums it up when he says that he still identifies as bisexual even though he has decided to marry his male partner. And for those of you out there who are bisexual and questioning your sexuality, here are some words for you: watch this video. You are not alone. The world will eventually come around. 
And if you are a bisexual looking for some guidance or somewhere to turn to without judgment, you should go here. Trust me, I know it's hard living in a world that doesn't understand you and constantly makes assumptions about your choices and the way that you live. Just keep doing you. The biggest insult to anyone who says anything negative is to prove them wrong.
And for those of you who are friends with a bisexual or another member of the LGBT community, Cosmo offers some great tips on what to say and what not to say to a bisexual friend in the article mentioned above. They also have an awesome online article on what not to say to a bisexual friend. And some of us need that because we're good at putting our foot in your mouths. So check it out. Let's all work together at judging less and understanding more. We're all different. And that's okay. If you don't agree with it, fine. But keep your negativity to yourself. We'd all appreciate it. Thanks.

To all of you that have requested this post, and there were A LOT, here it is. These are my tips to help you find your match. Feel free to comment below if you have any more tips or suggestions that you would like to add.

Now let's also keep in mind that everyone's perfect match is not the same. Therefore, we are not all looking for the same thing. And these tips are not for those who are looking to find a man to, shall we say, keep her company at night (that can be another post). These are for those who are legitimately ready to settle down and  find someone that they can share memorable experiences with.

1. Be Who You Want To Attract

• I never understand this. A lot of us want a faithful guy who can take care of the house, bring in the money, he's great with kids, and he loves puppies. But what do we have to offer? You cannot expect to find a man, let alone one that will take you seriously enough to settle down with you, if you have nothing going for yourself. Do you have a job? How about a savings? If you can't cook, will you at least be able to wash the dishes after he makes a meal? Are you honest with him? Think about all of these things. You really cannot expect to find Mr. Right if your Ms. Wrong. And be HONEST with yourself. Don't evaluate yourself on what you plan on doing. Evaluate yourself on what you're actually doing now. And think about it this way: if your child or your best friend brought someone just like you home, would you think they are acceptable? 

2. Figure Out What You're Looking For

• This is the biggest problem I see when it comes to dating. We get filled up with what we SHOULD be looking for and not what we ACTUALLY want. If you were to describe your ideal mate, what would they be like? And please do not say tall, dark, and handsome. That's some crap and you know it. Most African American women want those yellow dudes that look like they haven't seen the sun in about twenty years. Ya'll can keep that mess. But anyway, let's get back to business. Think about what you want in life, especially further down the line. Do you want a family? Do you want to travel? Are you going to eventually be looking to bring other people into the relationship in the form of swinging or something like that? Really think about it. Because it makes no sense wasting time looking for a man that really isn't genuinely going to make you happy. You'll be looking for someone elses Mr. Right and not your own. Once you figure out what you want out of a guy, you're already halfway there.

3. Listen To The Signs

• We've all been there. We're dating someone and our gut is telling us to get away! Run!! No good!! Red flag!! But we stay and we deal with the mess hoping that eventually he'll come around. But you know what, most of the time he doesn't. On the final episode of Catfish Season 3, Selita Ebanks said that for the first three months of a relationship, we get the representative of the actual person that we think we are dating. That is so true!! In the beginning of a courtship, we get the best the person has to offer, or what is supposed to be. So if they start out lying, cheating, manipulating, forgetting to mention they have a significant other/baby at home etc., what in the holy hell do you expect to happen in the future?? They started out with the bullshit. How do you think it's going to end up? Listen to the signs. Cut your loses and move the hell on. The end.