first touch of youlike the kiss of silky milk
covering my skin
I can hear the healing
in my veins
don’t look twice
I’m sorry this is to nice
I’ve wanted this for so
This is a tale, a tale from the past
A story thats told, and you know it will last
Listen to the words and you will find, that this story is in all of our minds
A tale that involves a girl in a red hat, who wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
besides her a man whose standing on one leg, leaning against a marbled pole that looks dank
the distance you hear the a sound of beeps, the scream of some birds and a menacing creep
There are lights that flash on and off in the gloom
the gloom of a morning thats not awake
like an old forgotten god whose at the bottom of a lake
meetings are coming, meetings to go to
opportunities not missed by those who known to
circles and cakes, people you meet
people is people who are at your feet
and still the girl who had a red hat, wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
waiting and watching and seeing these things, doesn’t move or know what they mean
and presently a Seagull whose a little bit bored, waddles aimlessly up to this broad
squarks a pertinent inquiry at the rosette crested girl
who looks at it westerly as if shes unwell
the seagull tells her that it is a man, and comes from a island in a very different land
and she doesn’t think or indeed move at all and simply smiles
for miles and miles there wasn’t one person who saw
the seagull and girl fly to the land of man of the swell
– This is a poem about dysphoria I felt in high school and how it returns to me sometimes,
even post transition. It’s about my past, present and my future. Its one of the poems I have tried to get into a poetry journal without success. I search for feedback on how to make thing better.
It’s like a ovipositor
It’s not one thing or the over
It looks like them
The ones who have made me cry, alienated me from myself
I’m like a wasp
All the hive is buzzing
All of them busy grey things in this nest
I’m trying to be like them
I’m doing the same things
I’m wearing the same full body grey suit
I’m helping with this grey mass we build
Mud, it’s so perfect a metaphor for my life
I’m like the sunshine on this mud
Heating it, hating it, making it solid
Into more hive
Strife, in a hive is dealt with quickly
I’m not sure why I wasn’t
They did that thing, the attack
I’m not sure I can fly anymore
But they didn’t kill me
Like all the others
I’m sure of it
On this day
This hateful day
Our grey bodies
Ready to go outside
I’m stuck in hear, in my mind at least
Leave the hive, but not really
I’m still grey
Cliff above us to the outside
One of them
Those others that pretend that I’m one of them
They drop a knife
It falls millimeters from my head
Anyone else see it?
That I was nearly dead?
I’m told to take the knife back
All the way up the cliffs
Carry the weapons of my enemies
I’m broken inside
I’m dead inside
I’m never going to escape the grey
I’m in the library?
Not a wasp right now
I’m a reader
Reading about a hyena
Vagina that’s like mine
I’m a hyena?
I’m not, but I am
My piece, my bit feels like that
On the outside it looks like
On the inside
In my mind
I’m out of the hive
Not in grey
I’m no longer pretending
But how long?
How long was it before?
I was outside
Still in their grasp
Like a dog?
I’m trying to be them
I’m also trained
Like me, barking, sniffing, digging, pissing
But secret, shhhh I’m not. I just pretend
I’m not a good barker
7. Ovipositor (2)
I’m not pretending anymore
I still have my ovipositor
But I’m me
In many ways
One day, one day I can
Be all me
All I want to be
I’m as me as I can be
Ask me and I will say so
In a whole of my own despair
Punk? I don’t care what you think
I’m past caring and not into hating you
I’m going to have another drink
I’ll tell you a tale
Ha! I’m the fucking cross that takes all the nails
Of the fucking woe that befalls my fellow trans
Excuse me? You know you’re phobic
You know who they are
The blood on their hands
What a work is a rotting man?
More that you’ve ever imagined that they can have
More every day
Instead of protecting us? They tell us which loo to piss in
Makes a good joke on the tv you know. Do they know how much it hurts?
Take away our very existence
Apparently telling our parents about ourselves is paramount, but what if we never have a home after?
We have to hide ourselves till we finally feel safe
If it’s not our parents, it’s everyone else
Safe? It’s new we were we are, concerned?
They tore at my flesh with bare hands
I’m was so scared of the after
“Burn gay fag, burn” they said.
Hide, hide, behind all the closed doors
Give in and your dead
Hide, hide, love is the beast in the Pandora’s box
Hope doesn’t even exist anymore
Trees, my savior, my home, books my sanctuary, little bits of information my requiem
Hiding like a koala does, or a mole
Trying out little secrets, covering the secrets in spells, covered by rituals, covered by spire of spite, and never come to use it to fight
It’s a little more like the little bit of light
The library, holding deep secrets, hide yours in it, keeps them safely hidden
Like your fate.
I ask you little one
Where is the transgender mafia?
If they existed
If they were real
I wouldn’t have to deal with the other ones
Requiem, the company of our souls, for even they are cursed by these people
You can touch it sometimes
It’s there. You can feel it.
Like a blank canvas with no inspiration, you can’t find the words to explain.
You look at others. Your like them. You want to be them. You need to be them.
Every thing in your body aches to be like that.
Everything in you life makes sense when you image your life as it.
But they tell you it’s impossible. Or only bad people do this. Or that your not really one of them. Or you can’t be like that.
Sometimes though it’s you. You hold yourself back. You can’t get yourself to be yourself.
Like a tadpole to scared to be a frog.
Like a flower to scared to be a seed.
Like a cloud to scared to be rain.
You exist. You love. You feel. You even try.
People want this person. The one you create. To be the real you. And you try. You try so hard.
Like a green light trying to be red.
Like a camera trying to be a photograph.
Like a letter trying not to be read.
But it’s their. Like the rain falling. The light switches on. The camera takes a photograph.
You can feel this. Here. In your heart. Down in your soul. Telling you. Wishers from a moon. First far away but slowly. Surely. It. Is. Deafening.
And you try to hide it maybe. You try to makes it a secret.
So worth. Your being. Your seeing. Life as you can only continue in a conundrum of being not the you that people think is you.
That little seed. You keep hidden.
It begins to bloom. A radiance that slowly shows.
Then one day.
Your the real you.
And you think. Why did you ever?
And you remember how impossible it had seemed.
And you remember you have so far to go.
But your fuvally stepping.
Like the path that speaks your truths.
Up upon the valley
( Soft skin.) Light taste lack.
Control gone to sleep
Making. Instead of the night.
Wanting inside. Wanting inside.
Tougher was the strength.
Demands. / Anger. / Regrets.
Change and change and change.
Holding together in the answers.
///feeling loss/// of the time///
New time. Is it good? When, when?
Hiding from the same thing.
///! Petal ///