Monday, 27 March 2017

Grow A Pair (Of Balls) (March 27, 2017)

In the supermarket
I hear you.

A young mother
Your three
Or four years old

Promising him
A reason to cry
If he doesn't stop.

Bringing back
40 year old memories
Of my own experiences
As child.

How boys are
To publically express 
Their emotions.

In being
The strong silent type
When expressing
Sorrow or sadness.

To do otherwise
You're labelled
As a sissy.

Or worse
By society.

Bottling up
The grief.

Leaving it
To eat away 
At you.

Had you been born
As female
The rules are

Therisa © 2017

Author's noteAfter six months of starting estrogen, as part of my HRT, I was asked, what the biggest change, which I have noticed, so far. To which, I answered, being freer, in expressing my emotional self, without the fear of physical or verbal attacks, for doing so. 

Friday, 24 March 2017

Audacity To Dream, Again (March 24, 2017)

At last
An island of wisdom
In a sea of ignorance
Does cradle Washington DC

As the antithesis forces
Of a nurturing 
And caring nation
Bow their heads
In defeat.

In the withdraw
Of President Trump's
American Health Care Act
From the floor of Congress.

How long
Before insanity returns
To haunt us?

A newer
And uglier form
Ever imagine.

For the price
To dream
Is eternal vigilance.

Darker days
Are ahead.

We can awake
From this nightmare.

To begin
The healing.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: On Friday, March 24, 2017, Republican leaders pulled the bill from the House of Representatives, that would have repealed former president Barack Obama's Affordable Care Act, replacing it with American Health Care Act. A bill, many critics have described, as harsh and unjust, in penalizing the poor, the young and elderly, with excessively high premiums, for these groups of people.

Wednesday, 22 March 2017

A Letter To Whomever (April 5, 2014)

Dear Whomever;
What you are
About to read
Isn't a justification
Of my reactions.
The situations
I have faced
During my life.
For those
Who don't know me
I was born
A girl trapped
Within a boy's body.
Like most trans-people
I knew
At an early age
My body is
The few happy moments
Of my early childhood
Which I can remember.
As a 4
Or 5 years old.
Exiting the bathroom
With a towel
Around my armpits
Like mom.
Mom dusting me
With her rose scented
Talcum powder
Just like she does
After a bath.
Or using the foam
From a scented bubble bath
To give me
A chest like her.
Even now
A small smile
Graces my lips
At these memories.
A hot summer's day
In August 1977
A Sunday
To be exact.
When my dreams
Came crashing down
Like a toxic avalanche
Of hate and fear
Upon me.
Learning the hard way
"Little boys" shouldn't be
Wonder Woman
While playing superheroes.
Pedaling away
In abject fear
As fast as
My little legs could
Back home.

Never again
Shall I let her out
Into the light.
For the danger
Is too great
If I want to survive.
As the verbal
And physical blows
Rained down
Upon my body and soul
Like an unrelenting hailstorm.
Ever deeper
Into Hell.
Keeping quiet
For 28 years
While Death appeared
The perfect solution
For my pain.
Until November 15, 2005
When the shackles
Fell from my body
At dad's graveside.
Relearning a truth
I had buried
So deep
Within my soul.
I am
A woman.
As the tears flow
Slowly eroding
The decades of self-hate
I had bottled up.
Must admit
This treacherous road
Which I travel upon
Is filled with many sorrows
And joys.
Able to break
A lesser heart
Than mine.
When rejected
By love ones
Who should be
Supporting you
During a trial
Like this.
But the truth has 
Never been
An easy mistress
To truly embrace
At any time.
As the past 9 years
Have proven to me
Forced to relearn
What true friendship is.
As the little girl
Is released
From her decades-long
And into the light
To play.

Therisa © 2014

Author's note: Another poem taken, from my poetic vault, previously unposted poem, to any site. Occasionally, I will write a letter, in the form of a poem, to express thoughts or ideas that tradition forms limit me, from doing.

Depression (January 16, 2014)

A dense mental fog
Swirls before my mind
Embracing me
Within its pea soup consistency.
Dulling everything
Around me.
Draining life's
Rich palette of colours
That were once
Bright and vibrant.
Turning my world
Into a monotone orb
Of grayness.
Wanting to scream out
In angry protest
But nothing emergences
From my lips.
A feeble cough
Or two.
Ever further
Into the darker depth
Of myself.
Where sleep becomes
A weapon to use
Against me
By you.
As you play
With my emotions
Like a skilled concert pianist does
With a Mozart concerto
Before an enraptured audience.
The crescendo is
Still to come
Before your departure date

Therisa © 2014

Author's note: Another poem taken, from my poetic vault, which deals with my constant battle with depression, and its influence over me.

Monday, 20 March 2017

Betrayal (March 20, 2017)

Broken faith
Endless tears
Tortured love
Ruined dreams
Awash with guilt
Years lost
Anger internalized
Longing for death.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: A writing exercise, to see, if I write each line of verse, in this acrostic, with two words, and still make sense when read. 

Friday, 17 March 2017

An Ending (August 8, 2013)

Sexually assaulted
By you.

Your actions
Raped my mind
And soul.

In destroying
A child
Filled with hope
And Dreams.

As my tears
Forms a noose
Around my neck.

Each new tear
Adds an additional loop
Until thirteen is reach
And tightened.

As the trap door

Therisa © 2013

Author's note: Originally posted, on a peer support PTSD site, as part of my trauma diary, here. This poem deals, with the summer of 1985, and the violence that I experienced, at the hands of my younger brother, and I feel towards myself, about it.

Running To Nowhere (July 29, 2013)

Can feel
Your slow ascent
Upon my defenses.

Poking and probing
For any opening
Which your talons
Can rip my soul

Fighting against
My impulse to flee
To anywhere
But here.

As I hear
The panting of
Your hounds pursuing
As they lunge
And nip my heels.

Tripping me
As my feet stumble
Over each other.

My bloody hands off
On my shredded jeans.

It means death
To stop
And surrender.

Even if
I run out of space
Which I can tread.

Therisa © 2013

Author's note: Originally posted, on a peer support PTSD site, as part of my trauma diary, there.