From a gruesome point in American and black history, intertwined with systematic oppression and economic disparities, black men have been forced to defend their manhood. Out of externally forced insecurity, homophobia, sexism, misogyny and other oppressive subtle and blatant dogmas were born.

As a former hottie I didn't know I was continuing the lineage that was already cast before me.

Lemon taught me that there is too much life to experience to remain trapped in the closet or, worse, to hurt oneself. It was a relief to relate to someone's struggle, and it inspired me to do the right thing. I didn't want to be 40-something and still debating whether to come out.

It's as though "down low" were synonymous with "gay and black." Not only is being on the down low problematic, but portraying all gay black men as down-low brothers stigmatizes the gay black community.

Some folks understand marriage as the ultimate goal in relationships. However, that view obscures the possibility of other forms of relationships, like multiple-partner commitments, long-term unmarried relationships, sexual relationships, etc.

Though I can remember almost everything about that day, from my mother's facial expression to her subtle physical responses, only recently have I tried to understand her reactions and consider her feelings throughout my coming-out process.

It all started with an awkward conversation with my dad when I was 16. On what I thought was a day like any other, we were passing our neighborhood Walmart when my father began the line of questioning I'd been dreading since before I was positive I knew the answers.

The voices in For Colored Boys represent empowerment, which isn't always beautiful and sometimes laced with grit. We colored boys are slapping flesh onto a monolithic image of black LGBT people.

To say that a barbershop, street, or neighborhood is safe for all LGBTQ people is to forget that not all LGBTQ people share the same privileges that we do. Would a feminine-performing brother be safe in your barbershop? Would a masculine-performing sister feel safe in mine?

It is scary coming out as gay when life has already given you so much to worry about, so much to think about, and so much to struggle with.

I thank Mr. Kelly for assembling these photographs. Although they have existed for years, by assembling them together for easy viewing, he has done something that is very beneficial not only for the black community but for the gay community as a whole.

Why do faith communities accept Madea when they are aware that she is played by a man in drag? Would the same churchgoing audiences accept a man attending their church services in drag? Could that love extend to someone who still has manly features but identifies as a woman?

My diploma symbolizes the fact that no matter what obstacles I may face, once I stop blocking my own success, I can do it. Despite the fact that I've been living with HIV for 25-plus years, I now have something I thought I'd never have: an unlimited world waiting for me.

To some in the LGBTQ community, Cleo Manago is a dangerous demagogue. But to tens of thousands African-American brothers and generous funders, he's seen as a brother driven with a dream. And he's perhaps dangerous because he's effecting change.

The following essay and stunning photographs come to HuffPost Gay Voices courtesy of Trent Kelley, a Texas-based playwright. Kelley, who says he colle...

It's time for us to stop saying that the gay rights movement is the new civil rights movement, because my civil rights movement hasn't stopped: as a person of color, for me it's still going.

Each year, I mark the MLK holiday by reexamining King's teachings, remembering that my longing for LGBTQ justice is inextricably tied to my work toward religious tolerance in the black church. And this is why I continue to speak up.

Television and film are a reflection of reality, barometers of what is real and relevant. If you do not see "you" reflected, subconsciously or not, a feeling of irrelevance can set in.

The alarming HIV infection rates among black gay and bisexual men beg this question to every black congregation, family and community: do we exemplify unconditional love for our gay and bisexual brothers, uncles, fathers and sons?

It can be quite easy for us to direct the negative energy that is projected at us within a largely homophobic and transphobic, racist society toward one another. It seems that "throwing shade" is the only way some of us know how to relate.