Navigating Borderlands: Identity and Grief as a Bisexual Black Man in the U.S.A.
When I first began writing Borderland, I wasn’t just crafting a collection of poems — I was carving out a space for myself in a world that often refuses to see me fully. Words slowly came to me as we entered the holiday season of 2023. And, like many of us grief experiencers and queer folks, the holidays can be…triggering.
As a Bi Black man, I have spent 38 years navigating the intersections of race, sexuality, and masculinity, which was later amplified by personal losses (the divorce of my parents and the passing of my brother and father, and smaller “Ls” over the years). Borderland is my attempt to give air to the complexities of my experience and, in doing so, to offer others a lens through which they might see themselves. And maybe, an opportunity to understand more about the labels I hold.
Storytelling and creative writing have always meant a lot, but I was not always an author, poet, musician, advocate, or intended to be when I published my first book, Views from the Cockpit, in 2019. After losing my brother to brain cancer in 2014 and my father to prostate cancer in 2017, I was drifting.
My world felt fragmented and uncertain — mentally and physically. There was an energetic hole in my chest that felt like it was becoming larger. Writing, later talk therapy, and later community spaces became a lifeline — a way to process my grief and explore parts of myself that had long been hidden or misunderstood. In many ways, I simply did not have the language to express myself. But I had learned to soldier through and keep potentially controversial matters (like complex feelings, dying or mortality, and bisexuality) private.
Borderland: Poems and Words from the Intersection of Masculinity, Race, Bisexuality, and Grief is a blend of prose narrative and free verse, exploring themes of identity, love, and loss. It’s an intimate journey through the “metaphorical” Borderland and the trials of living at the intersection of multiple identities — where society clashes with personal truths.
As fellow artist and poet zàri olàwàlé reflects in Borderland’s preface, “The struggles are endless and yet, at the ‘Borderland,’ I find solace, respite and the encouragement of those who are not me but they feel like me. The ‘Borderland’ is where every ‘misfit’ welcomes their bonafide place in the world without guilt or shame.” That is what I hoped to capture — a sense of finding belonging in a place that rarely exists elsewhere, a place where fluidity and complexity are embraced rather than shamed.
Borderland is necessary and compelling as a literary work. It addresses overlooked issues, even within progressive circles. Bi+ men, predominantly Black and other men of color, are systemically deleted from intellectual and artistic conversations about sexuality. The walls are “all white” and typically “all gay,” and it’s challenging to demand respect and recognition while also navigating the ambiguity of racism or emerging as the “DEI” token spokesman.
Antagonism toward Bi+ men, in general, is disguised as jokes and harmful media references, resulting in this omnipresent invalidation, and the layer of being Black, and “masc AKA straight passing or normative,” is just left out, if not demonized. Imagine — the queer community is not a excited about non-white, non-gay, non-fem representation. Where do I go?
A lot of the programming and advocacy efforts around bisexuality centers on white women and then men. While I relate to some of the rhetoric, I don’t believe any of these epicenters have a reason to uplift a narrative that resembles mine. Why would it resemble mine if I’m the one with my perspective and background? It’s my responsibility to self-advocate.
In the words of Nicholas Cairns, a fellow poet who identifies as bisexual, and also the proofreader of Borderland, “The confusion, the anger, the self-doubt, and the love, the joy, attraction, and reflection takes you on a journey. As a bi man, I felt seen and validated by the collection.” His reaction is exactly what I hope Borderland can offer — a space of recognition and validation for those who rarely see themselves reflected in art and literature.
This is the type of emotional experience I confront head-on with poems that explore the beauty and angst of living in the in-between. The poetry in Borderland uses various techniques and layers of meaning to reflect these themes.
In Bisexual Villain, I frame the villain as a father, a son, and a boy with bright eyes — almost as if reporting to a jury or being judged by society. The poem confronts the villainization of bisexual men without overlooking his humanity, exploring the pressure to conform to rigid expectations.
In Unzip, I play with double entendre, talking about removing the falsities we wear to reveal our true selves — an experience that’s both liberating and terrifying.
There’s a series of pieces, Of Air, Of Water, Of Fire, Of Earth, that use the elements as metaphors for bisexuality linking them to nature and it’s function in making the world livable.
Another poem, Braveheart, uses the technique of reframing and re-authoring, drawing on themes of religion and how a mother’s faith can uplif her son’s queer identity. This wasn’t my experience, but re-authoring allows you to experience the benefits as if it were.
And then there’s the sex, which I don’t shy away from. In poems, Honeyroom, Little Black Book, and Crescendo, I invite readers into a sensory wonderland of desire.
These poems push boundaries not just in content but also in form and visual aesthetic, creating layered meanings for readers to unpack.
But art isn’t just about me as the creator and how “I” experience myself; Borderland serves as a wider mirror for folks at the intersection of contrasting ideas and identities, for those who have been searching for themselves on the fringes.
I hope Borderland will not only resonate with those who share my identity and experiences but will also open the eyes of those who may have never considered the Black male perspective — notably a perspective that is witty, sensitive, and sensual. Borderland is my contribution and service as an artist and writer to the ongoing conversation about identity, visibility, and the power of personal narrative. And I am so pleased with the result.
For those who want to explore the intersections of race, masculinity, grief, and bisexuality through a poetic lens, I invite you to take this journey with me. Borderland is independently published and is available for pre-order now. Join me this National Coming Out Day, October 11, in this exploration of love, loss, and identity.
