This is the first post I wrote on this blog. It’s a little giddy but I remember feeling that way two and a half years ago when I began. Soooo much has changed since then. It’s all still very surreal…. Been reading through the evolving me and  even tho it’s disturbing calm emotions that are barely still from the turmoil of late, I thought it might help to go back and clarify why I began. Not just for you. For me as well. I may reblog a few other posts before I remove them altogether…a kind of last hurrah before quietly closing the door.

Originally posted on Coming Out Crooked:

This is me.

Exposing myself to you.

Naked. Raw. Honest…and a wee bit vulnerable.

So please, be kind.

Chronicling my personal journey of ‘coming out’ – and ya, it’s been a little bit crooked – has been on my mind for quite some time now. I thought I would wait for a drama free period before I began this blog, but that in itself is an oxymoron. If I’ve learned nothing else since coming out, it’s that lesbians are all about the drama! Anyone who says otherwise is either wiser, older and nesting now, so their drama is over, or they are one of the rare few who actually met their perfect partner from day one. Ha! Ya right. Lol. Did you just laugh out loud with me? I have yet to meet a lesbian, younger or older, who has told me their story that wasn’t full of turmoil, angst…

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Not My Monkeys, Not My Circus – Pt 2


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After the weekend of the family wedding, on the drive home with K, I was talking to her about how my Aunt E reminded me a lot of a family member on my mother’s side. A family member who is really a second cousin but somehow got dubbed Aunt – probably self-titled. I was describing in vivid details the rise and fall of the relationship and how this pseudo Aunt had been raised on the outskirts of the family by a proper and classy elder – at least that’s been the story revealed to me. During this raising, Aunt Cousin ;) was taught proper etiquette, all or many of the formalities of being a “lady” and so on. I’m not sure what happened along the way but Aunt Cousin must have met a beer drinking foul mouth trucker who finished her education! Cuz when I met her, gone were the distinguished mannerisms and soft language, and in their place sloppy attempts at showy refinement and a hollow crudeness that would shame a back alley…cat? Was thinking back alley whore, but even a back alley whore has more class then Aunt Cousin – (EDIT: my daughter JUST pointed out that the term back alley whore is offensive to sex workers. I assure you that is not my intent…just taking creative liberties here and that’s it. Period. Lol a rose by any other name is still a rose puddin pop. It is what it is and being politically correct is not at the top of my blogging agenda! However, neither is offending.)

So anyhow…

The thing that used to boggle my mind, and quite frankly, piss me off, was when she would attempt to instill these hitherto mannerisms in my very young and already well mannered daughter by correcting the way she sat or set the table. While a cigarette stained her brown fingertips deeper and the other hand held a frosty cold beer – drunk from the bottle no less! Sigh. The woman was and is still full of contradiction and irony. As Aunt E’s claim to fame is using and abusing men – her proudest moments evidenced in the retelling of her conquests in a very specific time warp,  Aunt Cousin also has a penchant for living in her own once-upon-a-time-ago and that infamous period is also about men.

With Aunt Cousin it seems she had the perfect life. A husband who was a cop. Two beautiful bouncing baby boys and a house with a white picket fence. Back in the late 60’s this would have been the mother of all feathers for an 18 year old mulatto girl to have in her cap, right? Even tho Aunt Cousin is of mixed race, she is fair enough to pass as white and for quite some time lived quite happily under the thin veil of conventionalism, but as was also a prominent sin – oops, sign – of the times, there loomed a “bad boy”.

Aunt Cousin was not immune. Hence the countless retelling of the story.

Seems over a decidedly short period of time she left her seemingly picture perfect paradise and rode that bad boy out of town. Figuratively. Literally. She turned her life upside down. Left her husband. Gave her kids up for adoption. And rode into the sunset where the sky is always bluer, the grass is always greener and life is all sunshine and roses. Right? Ya. Not. Unbeknownst to either the Etiquette Princess or the Brawny Bad Boy, the black cloud of incest was about to rain all over their parade.

In these moments, I was already living my own nightmare, having been a casualty of the times myself, but the story goes that when Aunt Cousin reunited with the family, with sexy bad boy in tow, suspicions began to unfurl as to the true identity of whom I will now refer to as Uncle Cousin. If my family is good at one thing, it’s clawing at the happiness of another family member. Must be a throwback from slavery times – every man for himself and the lighter the skin, the darker the hatred. In no time it was revealed, no doubt with malicious glee, that the Etiquette Princess and the Brawny Bad Boy were in fact half brother and sister!

I can only imagine the heartache, disbelief and crazy denial that must have gripped the couple in the throes of their passionate relationship. She had left her family, abandoned her children and he had left his wife and daughter. The guilt alone should have devastated them. But, as is declared by their 30-something anniversary at last count, they opted to ignore whatever proof validated the reality of their bloodline and live in not-so-ignorant bliss – away from the glaring accusation and disapproval of the family. I heard the  rumors and was told in no uncertain terms from matriarch and patriarch alike that this was indeed truth and most shunned the couple repeatedly over the years. Eventually they removed themselves from the wilting spotlight and created a new life – complete with family of their choosing. And when I resurfaced at the age of 18, I became one of the chosen.

At first it was all fun. They were only 15-16 years older then me, and they loved to party and dance. I did too. They had been declared outcasts. I had been too. They had secrets and demons abound. I did too. We were a perfect family match! But, the fun quickly became tainted with bitter jealousy – Aunt Cousin noticing the avid attention Uncle Cousin was paying to me. Fucking dick. I became, again. painfully familiar with sexual innuendo, accidental touching and not-so-subtle inappropriate glances. But I chose to ignore them cuz honestly, I didn’t want the party to end. I’d finally found some family I felt safe around and I’d be damned if another fucking “uncle” penis was going to ruin that for me! But ultimately it did spoil the party as only a fucking “uncle” penis can do. What the fuck is up with that shit anyhow?!!!

Eventually, the drinking become chronic and knew no bounds of convention – hey, it’s 5:00 somewhere in the world isnt it? The nonstop bickering turned into full blown fighting between them and created a brutally toxic environment. It got harder and harder to find the ha ha moments. Aunt Cousin – who only seemed to have a nasty voice when drunk – let her  jealousy take over on many occasions and it became unbearable. But it was two years in, when Uncle Cousin’s drunk penis overstepped, that I had to separate and move on.

It was extremely difficult for me because I loved them both very much. I understood what it meant to be shaped from woundedness and damage. I tried to be their “happy” and lighten up their darkness, and I’m certain on many levels I did, but it all became too much for me. The burden of Aunt Cousin’s wicked, and at times justified jealousy, breeded undeniable bitter insecurity and Uncle Cousin’s subsequent unhappiness grew too much for anyone to be around. Once upon a time they had oodles of well meaning friends, chosen family supporting them, hell I even honored them with the position of Nana and Poppa in my daughters life years later – but still, the disease of alcoholism slowly infiltrated everything in their lives and we all just sadly…and with some regret…moved away.

I haven’t spoken to either of them in nearly six years. A few monumental things occured before my little family (daughter and the eX) decided enough was enough. It was sad losing them, as they’d been a constant in my life for 10 years or so, and even tho there were some insane and disturbing times, there was a lot of love too. Dysfunction. Yes. Toxicity. Yes. Unhealthy. Yes. But there were also some incredibly beautiful moments and a lot of laughter too…

Sigh. All in the past.

Now, however, as is want to happen all too often,  alcoholism has poisoned their minds and destroyed every relationship over time, even their own,  tho they refuse to acknowledge what a train wreck they are together and I’m certain only death with separate them. Aunt Cousin has only been a passing  thought to me for years now. We have lost whatever connection we once had and truth be told, I have no room in my life for toxic people no matter how much I may have loved them. But, as the wedding had brought up similarities between Aunt E and Aunt Cousin, memories were fresh in my mind and that little sadness you feel for good times gone wrong. I have long since forgiven them both for “they truly do not know what they do”  and have left them and all the mixed emotions they bring up, in the past where they belong. Which is why I was devastated to receive this email from Aunt Cousin just two days after the wedding and retelling our story.

The email was called “Trurth” Auspicious title and telling spelling made me cringe a little but morbid curiosity made me open it anyway.

Shouldn’t have.

(Ya… there’s gonna be a Pt.3)

Not My Monkeys, Not My Circus – Pt 1


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So I went to a family wedding this past Friday in the small town I grew up in. It was a down home, black Canadian/Scotia wedding with homemade food, an open bar with liquor flowing and lots of family drama that I,  thankfully wasn’t a part of.

The bride, a light Negro skinned beauty who is my new-to-me cousin and 20 years younger, was radiant and stunning in her white satin and deep purple velvet train and her perfectly sweet Caucasian husband wore white tails and a look of absolute adoration. It was sincerely romantic and they seem so in love. It was quite beautiful to share in. But like all weddings, and especially black folk weddings, it wouldn’t have been complete without a few squabbles here, there and eventually everywhere!

The mother of the bride is my Aunt on my fathers side, whom I met 40 years ago for the first time when I was reunited with my biological family but haven’t seen in almost 20. Ya, no real strong family ties here but I’m working on remedying that hence my recent hookup with said Aunt on Facebook. Now, Aunt G is about 4 foot nothing literally and is gentle and soft spoken but if messed with, could tear you down to size in a heartbeat. Lawd have mercy! She was dressed in puffy, creamy yellow chiffon and lace and looked like a fairy godmother, but no one was fooled by her ethereal appearance. We all know she ruled with an iron fist and saw everything with those darting, all-knowing, smiling dark eyes. Nope,  Aunt G don’t miss a beat!

Her sister, Aunt E was also there and I had the dubious pleasure of sitting across from her during the reception, dinner and dancing afterward. Aunt E’s main concern seemed to be “when is the fucking bar gonna be open”. Kinda speaks of her priorities at her nieces wedding. I could smell the booze on her breath while sitting behind her in the pew but hey, it was a wedding after all right? I mean who am I too judge? Aunt E’s sole claim to fame seems to be how she has been able to manipulate men her entire adult life. Sex them, use them, make them spoil her, give her whatever she wants and utimately dump them. Hmmm. Not sure I’d share that sooo openly if it were my story but hey. Not my story. I must admit, I did feel a little sorry for her incredibly sweet but silent partner B, no doubt just another skull about to be skinned and added to her bedpost? But to her credit, she did tell me in private that he was the best thing to happen to her. Love. Maybe. Who can figure?

And, then there was Uncle D. In truth, I was dreading seeing him again. That same 20 years ago he had been a bastard. Sexually inappropriate. A drunk. A drug addict. A pimp. Ya…a real bastard. Complete with that treacherously lecherous leer that is reserved for paedophiles and dirty old men. Back in the day Uncle D was a strong, muscular black man whose sexual innuendo, malicious intent and lightning grip had bruised my arm more then once. I feared the memory of him – no fear is too strong an emotion. I was aprehensive and cautious, but knew if hands were laid, I would be more then…proactive. But, in the absence of proximity and the passing of years, my concerns were dispelled almost immediately upon seeing him. Time had ravaged and in his place was a gray haired, old man who it seemed was only remotely connected to what once was. Or so I thought.

After the initial awkwardness, and whatever “What? You’re too black to give your uncle a hug?” means, I relaxed my guard just enough to be cordial and engage in marginally necessary conversation. I had a question for him. And no, it’s not what I probably should have asked. A more pressing matter was in play.

I had received a recent shout out on FB from a supposed son of Uncle D’s who was looking for him and thought I might have some knowledge. Within minutes of being seated and greeted by him, I boldly asked Uncle D if he had any missing children and explained the recent FB query. I’m not sure who was more mortified…his sisters, his date or himself. It was actually quite satisfying watching him squirm a little although he recovered quickly with witty and dark humor. Normally I would never have been so bold as to bring up such a delicate subject so crassly, but I felt in being a former abuse victim of his, that I had earned the right and would be universally forgiven. (Insert Fuck you bastard here) I was “family” after all. Long story short, turns out the boy is his son and was taken from Uncle D by his eX when the two had split up and was moved to Vancouver at the age of 5 – hence the search.

When Uncle D was relating the story to me, full of affirmations of change, good behavior and mild repentance, and wait for it…Finding God…I almost felt compassion. I almost saw the human man in him. I almost saw sadness and remorse and near asking for forgiveness. You know those conversations you have when one set of words are being spoken but there is an entirely different conversation going on? Ya. Like I said. I almost felt compassion. Almost felt compelled to forgive and even tell him so…but something held me back.

And then, much later and perfectly sober, after giving me his number and email (which I felt obligated to record after doing so with several other family members during the evening) he hugged me close and told me to stay in touch. I hugged him back, actually feeling relatively safe in the embrace, when he kissed me on the cheek and whispered “Good to see you beautiful”.

His use of the word “beautiful”was, for me, Pavlovic. It elicited an automatic response, which in my case was icy, dark and fearful. It all happened so quickly, I barely had time to recover before he was walking out the door – confused and slightly bewildered girlfriend in tow…

Double tequila shot after that and then dance dance dance to Taylor Swift “Shake It Off”!!!


Yesterday, out of the blue, I received an email from a once cherished but definitely broken family member on my mother’s side. A woman who in reality is a second cousin but due to a 15 year age difference and other reasons I can’t fathom at the moment, she is called Aunt. I gave this woman the gift of intimate inclusion in my life – a rare gift indeed. And the sharing of my daughters life before and after she was born – an even rarer gift. This was done out of love and a generous desire to ensure my child felt belonging and was just as much a gift to my “Aunt” as well. Those of you who read me often, know how important my daughter and her well being are…has always been and always will be…

So. I get this email from my “Aunt” which was short, incoherent and grammatically incorrect and  undoubtedly sent in a drunken stupor…sadly a chronic condition which ended our relationship over 6 years ago…and even tho the message was crudely scripted, the deep and personal attack on my character as a person and a mother struck painfully – as was intended – at the core of my being. As well as her intent to somehow damage the precious relationship I have with my child.


I will share the rest of this story in Part 2 of this post, but will leave you with this…

I learned an awesome expression lately regarding taking on other people’s shit..

“Not my monkeys, not my circus.”

Or is it

“Not my circus, not my monkeys. “

Either way, Seemed appropo for this post…

who – poem dverse

Just. Beautiful.

Originally posted on bwfiction:

I used to feel her heart
each contraction vibrant
a constant affirmation
I’m here, I’m here, I’m here
echoing to mine –
braille letters
fingers silently discern
hope on warm smooth skin.

Her breath – steady, gentle
as was she
Did you know you can hear contentment
in unsaid words like music,
or a dove at dawn
and her touch chases fear
turning men to heroes

No words say goodbye
but the rustle of silk shouts
and the slow painful groan of hinges
will not cloak the footsteps
echoing faint and fainter down the hall
Later in the trees nearby
an owl asks who?
I know, but wonder
if the laughter will return

View original

Melody Moon


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After my last post I received an amazing email from a person who is not technically a “follower” but has followed me almost from the first day I started blogging. In her email she pleaded with me not to leave and begin a new blog, as this one, Coming Out Crooked – in all its sequential unabashed naked recorded movements of a first lesbian love – has inspired (and terrified) her direction “closer to turning the handle and coming out of the closet”. She wrote that she has read every post I’d ever written and thru my experiences has come to understand that while turbulent, volitile and often messy, my interpretation of the love story between P and I has given her “an unfettered insight into the complicated workings of a relationship woman to woman and she desperately wants – no – needs – to experience that for herself”. While there was anger and bitterness and ultimately “a very, very sad ending”, the written lines of poetry between these passionate outbursts represented – to her – the “personification of love in all it’s powerful beauty”…

She also talked a bit about her childhood; alarmingly similar to my own, and told me that my “Mommy Nearest” series had given her the courage to renew her search for her biological family. A search she had abandoned nearly 20 years ago due to the rules and restrictions of red tape and closed adoptions. I was sorely tempted to post her email simply for the beauty of it, but I know she didn’t send it to me for that reason. And I sincerely respect why she did. I am incredibly touched by the reaching out, the sharing and most of all the conviction she used to persuade me to keep this blog going.

And I am deeply, deeply flattered.

I took a day to think about her request and then another…cuz for me the decision was akin to throwing down the gauntlet, letting go of P and moving on. But after reading her email at least a dozen times, the impact of her words hit me full force and I was awash with a sense of compassion, comraderie and something akin to joyous contentment and a deep inexplicable satisfaction that I had reached another human being, another woman, another late bloomer and have had a profound effect on her path in life.

I could go on and on about how this woman’s words have effected me as well, but sufficed to say I have made a decision and am basing it solely on this one email that has proven to me that I have accomplished one basic thing I set out to do: touch, help and potentially heal another wounded and confused soul.

How fucking amazing is that! ;)

So, in this defining moment I am dedicating the intent behind this blog to you, “Melody Moon”, for reminding why I started Coming Out Crooked in the first place. For bringing me back to my desire to express the truth of MY personal experiences as a late blooming lesbian and NOT to be discouraged or disheartened by a broken heart. And yes, you’re right. In the immortal words of Tennyson: “It is better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all”.

I wish that one day soon, you have your own lust-filled, incredibly sexy, passionate, romantic, sometimes painful but beautiful experiences with a woman at the level you seek to enjoy and perhaps, you will share some of them with an anxiously awaiting audience. You are a beautiful writer, a deeply sensitive human being and from the little I know of you, a soul deserving of love. It gets a little scary and crazy at times lovely one, but it is most certainly worth the ride.

I won’t abandon this blog Melody Moon, and I will continue on this path of self awareness and truth of my experience as a late blooming lesbian, but I am going to edit and remove some posts just because I need to “cleanse” the palet of a few blood stains. However, Coming Out Crooked and its integrity and its essence will be preserved because of you.

And for that I thank you 💙




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I’ve decided that it’s time to shut down this blog. It carries too much sadness, too many memories and is a source of constant pain to me now from a great loss. I will start another one and continue my story but it needs to be private again…like it was in the beginning before she discovered it and began to read me. A discovery that stifled my creativity, blurred my honesty and kept me bound to an obligation not to hurt her. A misplaced sense of loyalty if I’ve ever had one…

So, my beloved girls and boys – and you know who you are – if you want to continue with me on this crooked path of coming out and self discovery you can email me at and I will send you a link to my new blog. At this moment it is unnamed, but when it is named – something deliciously trisholicious ; ) I will forward you the link. As for the rest of you beautiful followers, I thank you for your kind words and support thru what has been the most surreal and painfully beautiful period of my adult life as a lesbian. I wish you all the best life has to offer and heartedly remind you to never NEVER be afraid to follow your dreams and to always ALWAYS love yourself. Never let anyone else’s treatment of you mitigate your sense of self worth. You are PERFECT from the top of your head to the tip of your toes! Keep your power and know that you deserve the best.

Even when it’s shit, life is good lol!

Love and happiness,
tdot xo


Once More…


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If you could see me now
Living in the hollowed out existence
Of my yesterdays with you
Clinging to the truest
Most complete sense
Of belonging to anyone
I have ever experienced
Aching to breathe in my air
And soak in my skin
The living scent of you
With all its beautiful layers
Of exquisite arousal
And peaceful contentment
Distinctly you
And only you
If you could live inside my life
For just a fraction
You would leave it
Never again in doubt
For you would know
That I would give anything
To be in that place
That heavenly place
Sharing in a love so…
Distinctly mine
Forever yours
Perfectly ours
Where we would fit intrinsically
Limbs entwined
Lips a breath away
Once more

I miss our love



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I made one…

I didn’t listen to my heart

And now I will live in regret

But how do you know, when you choose a path

That’s it’s not the right one, until it’s too late?


I’m so fucking tired of the bullshit

So, today I turn the page

Fresh and clean

Blank and unrecorded by time

And write my story alone

I’d take back my virginity if I could

And claim the biggest do-over of a lifetime

Hello Universe…I’m just looking for me

How hard can that really be?

And perhaps

I shall even being to write anew…

Infinite Sadness

It hurts in a place I can’t see or even touch

But the pain is ever present

Looming and sharp and isolated in a deep melancholy

It’s the thing that makes me cry out in the night

And howl at the moon in anger through my tears

Desiring a phantom touch that has long since turned cold

To want a dream that has always been just out of reach

I miss her

I want her

I suppose I will always miss her

And want her

And ache for her

She was my universe for so long, my love, my P

Still is, in that very secret place where denial has no place

And only truth stings like red hot licks of fire

The scars deep and wounding my once open heart

I am reaching in silence for a ghost of a thing that may have never been there

The uncertainty of it fucks with my mind and wrenches my gut

She left me so easily

My heart, my soul, my love second to her need of self

Abandoning me so completely to depths of a despair

I have yet to recover from

I smile on the outside and I laugh and I play

And I do what I need to do to get through the day

But I am broken inside

Dropped and smashed into a million tiny fragmented pieces

And yet, still I love her

I know she is gone

As am I

We have said our goodbyes

It is over…

But even knowing this

My heart still seeps from a heavy weight and a need to express

My sadness and longing and loss of love

And here is the only place I can do so

Without admonishment, guilt or correction

I need to let go

I am letting go

But only because I have too

And it’s killing me slowly

This infinite sadness

That will always be

Deep within the soul of me


I hurt

So much

And loved with equal measure

I wish I had known the same…

Today is not a good day





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