Ovipositor

– 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.

0. Ovipositor

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

1. Wasp

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

Trying

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

The strike

The clipping

I’m not sure I can fly anymore

But they didn’t kill me

Like all the others

Ovipositor

I’m sure of it

2. Hive

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

3. Cave

It’s dark

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?

Nope

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

4. Hyena

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

It’s not

5. Escape

I’m out of the hive

Not in grey

I’m out

I’m me

I’m no longer pretending

But how long?

How long was it before?

I was outside

Still in their grasp

Like a dog?
6. Dog

I’m trained

I’m trying to be them

I’m pretending

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

For now?

I’m as me as I can be

Ask me and I will say so

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Bloated firestorm 

Every fire in my stomach 

Tired of the drive from this place

Gloating firefly in the doorway

Shutting down the black marble road

Crowds shoutout for anguish and drama 

Them are surprise to get it, is that the social karma?

Fifty fires, down inside, empathy of the day 

Just the frosty icing licks, just the hatful knife that wil kiss 

Something incandescent 

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. 

Failing.

So hard.

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.

You hide.

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. 

Pushing inside out

Up upon the valley

   ( Soft skin.)       Light taste lack.

Control gone to sleep

            Impulse hillside

    Making.          Instead of the night.

Wanting inside. Wanting inside. 

        Tougher was the strength.

Demands.           / Anger. /  Regrets.

Change and change and change.

     Touching.    

Holding together in the answers.

       //drowning// 

However

    ///feeling loss///  of the time///

Black noises. 

New time. Is it good? When, when?

Hiding from the same thing. 

      ///! Petal /// 

Orange juice. 

Dress

Smiling at how far I have come

Watching the swish of the dress I have on

Feeling the breeze and the fabric

Feeling the woman I am inside, outside

Seeing those who look

Hearing those who comment

The new dress is a blessing

Don’t need any more guessing

Flowers and blue

And brand new shoes

Red dress

Red again
This time a dress
Imagine yourself in it
Feeling the cloth
Every bit of your skin tingles with delight
Your feeling freer than ever
Not a illusion, the mirror gives you
Your acutely you.
No one else
No one is telling you otherwise
It’s your day
You start to walk
It’s a lovely morning to be a woman
One day