THE
“VIRGIN”
steps
onto
the
stage
with
poem
in
hand,
putting
her
lips
to
the
mic
and
pausing
for
a
moment
before
she
lifts
her
head
toward
the
audience.
Then,
she
slowly
unleashes
an
arsenal
of
metaphors
and
similes
to
let
the
onlookers
know,
in
no
mincing
words,
that
the
smell
of
her
lover
is
no
ordinary
scent.
It’s
a
fierce
grip
that
captures
her
heart.
When
she’s
done,
the
audience
claps
with
enthusiasm,
a
few
letting
out
a
holler
that
signifies
they’ve
been
there,
too.
It
was
her
first
time
performing
at
the
Front
Porch,
a
relatively
new
venue
in
D.C.
where
spoken-word
artists
can
display
their
skills
on
the
first
Thursday
of
each
month,
and
no
one
looks
prouder
than
the
show’s
emcee
and
founder,
Tim’m
West.
He’s
sitting
next
to
the
stage,
smiling
as
the
virgin
steps
down.
As
the
clock
approaches
midnight,
the
intimate
back
room
of
D.C.’s
Mocha
Lounge
is
standing
room
only
for
this
monthly
spoken
word/poetry/music/hip-hop
event.
West’s
Front
Porch
is
a
beckoning
affair
and
its
performers
are
opening
every
closet
in
the
house.
“No
matter
the
story,
someone’s
going
to
connect,”
he
says.
“People
can
come
and
be
bare
and
vulnerable.”
The
Front
Porch’s
artistic
mix
is
a
reflection
of
32-year-old
West
himself,
an
accomplished
author,
poet,
actor,
musician,
spoken-word
and
hip-hop
artist.
He
founded
Front
Porch
in
December,
shortly
after
moving
from
California
to
the
District,
where
he
also
works
coordinating
outreach
and
prevention
for
the
D.C.
CARE
Consortium,
an
umbrella
group
for
local
organizations
in
the
HIV/AIDS
arena.
West
began
realizing
his
artistic
talents
long
before
building
the
Front
Porch.
HE
GREW
UP
in
a
rural
township
outside
Taylor,
Ark.
“[It
was]
so
tiny,
it
didn’t
have
a
name,”
he
says.
West
and
his
seven
siblings
lived
in
a
three-bedroom
house
with
one
room
for
the
girls,
one
for
the
boys
and
one
for
his
mom.
They
had
no
running
water
in
the
bathroom
and
still
used
an
outhouse.
Before
settling
in
Arkansas,
West
recalls
being
about
3
and
roaming
the
streets
of
south
Dallas
with
his
mother,
who
asked
a
stranger
for
shelter
for
her
and
her
children.
He
said
that’s
when
he
realized
the
family
was
homeless.
“We
lived
this
experience
that
I
don’t
think
most
of
America
is
aware
of,”
West
says.
“Urban
poverty
is
centralized,
but
rural
poverty
is
more
invisible.”
His
mom
had
done
well
in
high
school
and
then
married
his
father,
“this
sort
of
Malcolm
X
character
without
the
polish,”
West
says.
He
describes
his
father
as
a
storefront
preacher
whose
congregation
was
mostly
his
own
family.
His
father,
in
and
out
of
the
family,
was
the
musician.
His
mother,
the
singer.
And
the
front
porch
was
where
everyone
came
together
to
dance,
sing
and
perform.
Years
later,
West’s
father
eventually
came
to
terms
with
having
a
gay
son,
but
at
first
was
confused
that
Tim’m
could
be
a
such
a
“man’s
man”
and
still
like
men
—
that
he
was
a
“gay
man
of
the
ESPN
variety,”
West
says.
By
the
time
he
understood
the
concepts
of
relationships
and
marriage,
West
knew
he
wanted
to
be
with
a
man.
He
remembers
watching
“Good
Times”
and
“What’s
Happening,”
waiting
for
the
gay
character
to
be
introduced.
But
being
in
Taylor,
he
says
it
was
hard
to
imagine
a
world
where
people
could
be
themselves.
When
West
left
for
college
at
Duke
University,
he
finally
began
meeting
more
people
like
himself,
although
he
was
still
a
bit
shocked.
Before
leaving,
he
had
only
seen
the
stereotypes
of
gay
culture
—
the
white
leather
men
and
drag
queens
—
“so
to
see
normal
black,
gay
college
kids,
I
was
like
‘somebody’s
been
lyin’.’”
But
more
than
just
meeting
other
gay
people,
West
more
fully
realized
the
extreme
poverty
he
grew
up
in.
His
first
time
back
in
Taylor
after
starting
college,
“I
had
become
this
iconic
symbol
of
hope
…
there’s
a
lot
of
pressure
to
fill
the
promise
of
a
community,”
he
says.
“We
had
air
conditioned
dorm
rooms
and
my
family
was
home
with
hand
fans,”
he
recalls.
“I
almost
had
a
sense
of
guilt
that
I
had
made
it
out.”
While
at
Duke,
West
earned
a
bachelor’s
degree
in
philosophy
with
an
emphasis
in
women’s
studies
and
continued
with
the
creative
arts
that
he
had
begun
in
high
school.
In
women’s
studies
classes,
he
got
to
talk
about
gayness
in
a
black
context
and
read
poems
with
gender-free
figures.
It
was
women’s
studies,
he
says,
that
led
him
to
a
black
gay
men’s
culture.
In
a
way,
women’s
studies
reminded
him
of
his
own
writing
experience.
“Writing
can
be
this
space
where
a
man
can
be
gay,”
West
explains.
“Writing
allowed
me
to
thrive
and
be
gay
and
be
myself.
You’re
constantly
trying
to
find
these
spaces
and
that’s
why
women’s
studies
appealed
to
me.”
After
graduating
from
Duke,
West
went
on
to
earn
a
master’s
degree
in
liberal
studies
and
philosophy
from
the
New
School
in
New
York
City.
Then,
in
1999,
a
year
into
his
doctoral
studies
at
Stanford
University,
he
tested
positive
for
HIV.
“I
was
always
very
connected
to
the
HIV-positive
community,”
he
says.
“But
you
still
make
mistakes.
You
still
slip.”
West
took
a
hiatus
from
graduate
school
and
threw
himself
full-time
into
the
arts,
although
he
would
later
receive
a
master’s
degree
in
modern
thought
and
literature
from
Stanford.
THE
SAME
YEAR
he
found
...
