Tuesday, 31 May 2016

The Coming Out Party, Yeah Right. (May 31, 2016)

In my mind's eye
It unfolds
Like a tragic drama
In slow motion.

It'll end
In broken emotions
And tears.

Wanting to scream
At myself:

"Stay away
From the apartment door
Don't open it!!"

At the sound
Of mom
At my door.

Not expecting
From my family.

A navy blue floral skirt
And red t-shirt.

Fingers and toes
In Revlon Raven
(A dark shade of red).

Golden studs
Adoring my ears.

Did I
In answering
The door.

Not sure
Who was
More surprised.

Or I.

Should have
Told her:


As I closed
The door.

I let her

My descent
Into Hell
And madness.

In forcing
Out of the closet
Before I was ready.

As her trans-daughter
Who happens
To be
A lesbian.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: There is more, to this story, but I don't feel comfortable, in sharing it, right now. Safe, to say, I crashed and burned, emotionally and mentally, after this Canada Day long weekend, in 2006. Since, this incident, I have broken off, all ties, with my family, given my mom's transphobia and my brother's abusive behavior, over the years.

Wasn't the poem, I was expecting for my 2700th, but some things are beyond our control.

Monday, 30 May 2016

Holy.... (May 29, 2016)

In stunned disbelief
The news rolls
Over me
Like a tsunami
From Vancouver.

Upon hearing
The Conservative Party
Of Canada
Has approved
Same sex marriages.

Has joined
The 21th century
At their policy convention
With the rest
Of the world.

I wonder
If someone had spiked
The delegates were drinking
Before the vote. 

Had created
The world's biggest bong
For the more conservative
Evangelical members.

Stopping them
From fracturing
The "Right"

As happened
During the late 1980s
With the formation
Of the Reform Party
From the Progressive Conservatives.

Just hope
No delegates sue
The party
For it's whiplash change
Over this sudden political

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Never thought, the Conservative Party of Canada, would actually amend their policy platform to support same sex marriages, given their vocal and religious protest against. Wonder, will they also change, their transphobic attitude that kill the last attempt to protect Trans' rights, under the Canadian constitution, by supporting the changes, to the Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms, by specifically making it a hate crime, to knowingly attack and hurt a  trans-person. Wish, I could ask this, but, future gazing, isn't one of my powers.

In Doubt (May 30, 2016)

Gentle tapping
Upon the keyboard
As the words flow
Before me
On the computer screen.

Unconscious thoughts
Without realizing it.

Often wonder
Why people read
My minimalist poems
About my daily life
And the things
That grab
My attention.

For most people
Am exotic curiosity
Outside of
Their experiences.

In being
A minority
Of a minority.

And targeted
With hatred.

What power
Does my words have
That makes people
Want to read them?

The exotic nature
Of whom
I am.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: There are times, which I question, why people read my poems, at all. Knowing, I don't have the technical skill or polish that others have, in their writing. This is, one such time.

Untitled (May 30, 2016)

I do not stand
Before you
Preaching intolerance
And bigotry.

In forcing you
To be

You're not.

In having
Been forced
Several times.

The pain.

That's felt deep
One's soul.

A result
From this type
Of bullying
By others.

I ask
From you:

Is an open mind
And a willingness
To listen.

Nothing more.

I shall walk away
My heart sadden.

At the raw power
Of ignorance
Has over your soul.

Therisa © 2016

The Prisoner's Letter (May 29, 2016)

You're reading

My muse has escaped
From this inferno
Of Hell
On Earth.

I don't know.

She has.

I write this
On a scrap piece
Of paper
Lying nearby.

Not knowing
The next time
I can write.

At all.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: An exercise, to break up, my writer's block, caused by, the nasty heat wave that has southern Ontario, under it's grip, for the past week and showing, now signs of letting up, soon.

Saturday, 28 May 2016

My Butterfly Effect (May 28, 2016)

A simple mistake
In misreading
The 519* support group

Finding myself
The wrong group.

Brimming full
With destructive anger
And corrosive pain
From mom's rejection.

Just two weeks
On the Canada Day
Long weekend.

Looking for
A safe shelter
To ease my burden
With those
Who would understand.

I enter
The group room.

Only then
Did I realize
My blunder.

Like an autumn leaf
In a September breeze.

I asked
The F2M group
For a kind ear
To listen to
My story.

As I released
The pent-up energy
In a healing circle.

Never realizing
Until later.

A simple "no"
From them.

And I
No longer
Among the living
That weekend.

Or graced
By the lasting
And healing friendship
Of Z.

This July
We'll celebrate
Ten years
Of this mistake.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: After my mom's rejection of me, on Canada Day 2006, I had spun down, into the blackest depression, which, almost cost me, my life and job, at the time. With the help of Z, I have been rebuilding my life, ever since. Will admit, there are times, I feel overwhelm, by everything that has happened to me, especially, during the flashbacks, and crippling anxiety attacks.

*519: a community centre, in Toronto, that serves the needs of local residents and the LGBT+ community of the greater Toronto area. It's called, the 519, due to its address, 519 Church St, in the heart of Toronto's gay village.

Friday, 27 May 2016

Melting (May 27, 2016)

Every year
It catches us

As if
It's the first time
For this
To happen.

As people rush
To strip down
Their body

In a respectable fashion.

Seeking out
Their favour altar
To roast themselves
In various shades
Of cancerous tan.

In the coolest
And darkest spot
Without A/C.

Their bodies
Give off
A pale bio-luminance glow
With their pasty looks.

Rest of us
Broil away
In the sweltering heat.

To whatever God/dess
For relief.

As the first heatwave
Grips the land
Without any sign
Of easing up
Any time soon.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Written, while waiting for my various medical appointments, this morning.

Deepest Wish (May 26, 2016)

You offer me
Chance of a time
To have
A fully functional
Female body.

The only catch being
After a year
My time
Upon this plane
Is up.

Any hesitation
Or second guessing.

My answer is
A resounding

Even with
The most advanced SRS
Will never be
Fully female
In body.

That's if
I get approval
And funding
In the first place.

You start yelling
And screaming
At me.

I know
Changing my body
Won't eradicate
My various mental illnesses
Or the other issues
I have.

For a moment
I'll experience something
That's forever
To other trans-women.

Having a period.

It may be.

It's worth it.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Written, while doing my laundry, late, at night.

Thursday, 26 May 2016

Janus, Would Be Proud (May 26, 2016)

They call

Instead of
Preaching love
As their religion

Pure hatred
From their frozen hearts
Like oil
From the ground.

So smugly
In their Sunday best
Upon the church pew.

For my soul's

Fake smiles
Upon their faces.

Like a poster
Wrapped around
The telephone pole.

The latest release
From a local indie

Hate to think
How they would
Treat me.

If I had reacted
In a disrespectful manner
To them.

They don't read
Their own religious text
In having forgotten
The golden rule.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Often wonder, how someone, who claims, to speak, in the Voice of God, can be filled, with such hatred, like many socially conservative Christians. Last time, I looked, the Christian bible wasn't filled with ignorance or pure hatred. Although, I must say, I'm not a Christian, nor pretend, to be one. Had too much religious hatred, forced down my throat, for being, a trans-lesbian.

From The Ground Up (May 26, 2016)

Who read this
May think
I'm venting
My sour grapes.

I ask you.

"What's it like
To be
At the top
Or near it?"

From someone
Who's always
Looking up
At others
From the bottom.

Having to fight
For whatever
I have.

And otherwise
In my life.

On the fringe
Of society
Looking inwards
With a heavy sigh
Upon my heart.

Of a day
With total inclusion
For all.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The older, I get, the more, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., is influencing me, with his philosophical message of inclusion, as his "dream" has grown closer, in some ways, but further, in others. And yes, you can call me, a dreamer, but, without my dreams, I would have died, years ago, by my own hand, in total despair and sorrow.

More, Is Less (May 18, 2016

It's the simplest
And yet
Most profound thing
One can do.

As we walk
Upon this journey
Of true
And lasting healing.

In realizing
The most elegant solution
Is the simplest one.

For some people
A paradoxical answer
That confuses

With their inner
Value system
And learnt ideology:

Is better".

And yet
The opposite
Is true.

Any young child
The choice
A cardboard box
And an expensive toy.

They will chose
The box
Over the toy.

Playing for hours
With the box.

The ignored toy
And collects dust.

A lesson
We need
To remember.

It's the journey

And not
One's lavish display
Of wealth
That matters.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: This poem grew out, of the therapy session of May 18, 2016, which I talked about how we approach life, will influence our pace of healing and world outlook. In that, more, isn't better, rather, it's harmful, to our spiritual and healing needs

Wednesday, 25 May 2016

Swimming, In A Sea Of Red Tape (May 25, 2016)

I didn't ask
For the various labels
That hang around my neck
Like a hangman's noose.

Without knowing
They're around

Have gather them
Over the years
From other people.

At the tender age
Of four.

With the medical
And growing
From there.

In seeing me
As a problem
That needs
A solution.

Instead of
A person
Who needs

To play
By a myriad
Of Byzantine
Bureaucratic rules
That dehumanize
All applicants.

To pry open
The locked doors.

Vital decisions are
Being made
Without my presence.

Only to find
The reports are

Am forced
To become
What I hate.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: My collection of labels, started, in November 1974, with my survival of a severe electrical burn, to both sides of my mouth. And from there, have grown, with the start of school, the following year, with kindergarten. Having experienced multiple years, throughout my academic career, in special educational classes, for speech therapy, gifted student program and last for, various learning disabilities. Am only aware of some of these decisions, because my dad broke protocol, with a backroom committee, and in showing me, their reports.

As an university student, I had to identify myself, to my various professors, as having various learning disabilities, before the start of each new course, or lecturer. A royal pain, in the butt, having to do so. Even on, on the job site, I have to do so, to prevent them, from discriminating against me, because, of this.

Quite frankly, I rather not, have to disclose such personal information, about myself, that people can use, against me. I don't like using labels, but the rules of society forces them, upon people, like myself, regardless, of our personal feelings, towards them.

The Day, The World Changed (May 25, 2016)

Every June
The family
Used to gathered
Into one spot.

A hundred or so
Of us.

The anniversary
Of our (1952) arrival
In Canada
From The Nederland.

From toddlers
To senior citizens
And every age

A shortage
Of eyes
To look after
The smaller children.

As various games
And activities
Were planned
For everyone.

February 2, 1984.

Marking the day
The laughter died
With my opa's death.

Opa loved
To play jokes
On us
And great grandchildren.

His face
Would light up
Like a Canada Day
Fireworks display
With his toothless smile.

It's all faded away
Into memories.

Like the fall leaves
In a brisk October breeze
The family drifted
In its own way.

Within this grief
Was my birthday
I never had.

The unwanted present
Of a prolong depression
I struggle with
As a result.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: One of the biggest lessons, I learnt, as a child growing up, surrounded around the family, and how it came first. Sadly, with opa's death (1984 )and oma's death (1996), the extended family broke down and drifted apart. Only gathering together, for deaths and weddings.

Truthfully, I never really felt comfortable, during these annual gathering, and never knew why, until now. They triggered, within me, a mild anxiety attack, with so many people, in a small space.

Tuesday, 24 May 2016

Until Next Time, We Meet (May 24, 2016)

The night before
We chatted
Over the phone
You and I

Never realizing
On the morn
We'd be rushing
Helter shelter
To your bedside.

A mid-November
Ontario snowstorm
On unplowed
Rural gravel roads.

Your voice
Filled with joy
As your beloved Leafs
Were victorious
Over the Chicago Blackhawks.

By your bedside
I grasp
Your cold clammy hand
In mine.

Inane things
We did chatter
Finding comfort
In the sound
Of your voice.

As the hour
Approach 1 am
And bed
For me.

The doctor said
You had irreversible
Brain damage
At the Saturday morning

I could think
Were the final words
That I said
Before hanging up.

Giving us
The medical options
To furthering
Dad's care.

"Good-bye Dad
I love you."

To which
We responded:

"Remove the machines
It's his wish
For this."

As I gave him
One final kiss
Of good-bye
Upon the cheek.

Never seeing
His live body

The family viewing
At the funeral home
Before the funeral.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: I was returning a phone call that my mom had made earlier, in the evening, while I was still, working my afternoon shift, for an electronic firm's distribution centre, in Mississauga, Ontario. The sound of my dad's voice surprised me, as he was suppose to be, still hospitalized, before his long trip, to London, Ontario, to see the heart specialist, at University of Western Ontario.

A day doesn't go by, which I wish, I had said more, to him, over the phone. Despite the fact, I was the last person, for whom, he talked to, before his fatal heart attack, the next morning, on November 13th (a Friday). Only, to be revived, by local paramedic, but the damage was, already done. At 21:50, on Sunday, November 15, 1998, my dad was declared dead.

Sound Of Total Silence (May 24, 2016)

My biological clock
Was still-born
At time
Of conception.

Able to experience
What it means
To be fully female.

In all aspect
Of life.

An approximation
At a surgical best
By a scalpel.

Leaving me
Male nor female
As a result.

A third gender
The gender divide.

In fuelling
My unanswered yearning
To give birth
And hold
Within my arms
My own child.

No amount
Of counselling
Or river of tears
Can change this.

Haunting me
To the grave.

Therisa © 2016

Author's notes: Unlike the early years of SRS, the current version, doesn't include, the transplantation of the female reproductive system, into a trans-woman. In one way, sparing the horrors that the earlier SRS recipients had to face, with organ rejection and the numerous surgeries, as a result. But, I wonder, given the advances, in stem cell research, if it's not possible to do this, without the worry of organ rejection and the need to take medication for the rest of our lives, as a result of these advances. For myself, it's too late, and I know it.

Saturday, 21 May 2016

The Unseen War (May 21, 2016)

For many years
The word
Existed as
A swear word
To me.

Any second
Another fist
Or kick
Will land.

As I struggle
With my toxic experiences
Of domestic and schoolyard

Praying for
The welcoming embrace
Of Death
And the darkness
She brings.

Knowing not
These criminal attacks
Upon my body and soul
Aren't my responsibility.

The blame
Upon myself.

Letting my tears
Eat away
At my soul.
Like falling drops
Of concentrated acid
On cloth.

My self-esteem
And self-confidence
Were reported.

As vague rumours
To have existed
At all.

Even now
I have to
Remind myself

I'm stronger
And better
Than those
Who hurt me.

For too many years
Of my life.

Therisa © 2016

Farewell (May 21, 2016)

A portrait of Lili Elbe by Gerda Wegener, a watercolour from 1928 Credit: Wellcome Library, London
Like a child
I did pose
My love.

Never realizing
The catalyst
It would prove
For us.

In awaking
Our inner self
To each other.

Never knowing
It would tear us

Death is nigh
For me.

I must live
My life
As a woman
In all aspects.

By ending
This lie
I'm male.

As your paintings
Does show.

Am sorry
My love.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For those, who don't know me, I'm a transsexual lesbian, who been out of the closet to my family, since July 1, 2006, when I, disastrously outed myself, to my mom, on Canada Day. Let's just say, she wasn't very supportive, of the ideal, of having an eldest daughter, instead of, a son. As a result, I nosedived, into a very dark and black depression that almost cost me, my life, as a result. Have since, broken off, all contact, with my immediate family.

The film, The Danish Girl, is a fictionalized account of Lili Elbe's transition, from  Einar Wegener to Lili Ilse Elvenes. And, the love affair, Lili had with her wife, Gerda, spanning several decades, during the early 20th century. Although, it's never said, outright, in the movie, but Lili died, from organ rejection, as the drugs to counter this, weren't available, until 1980. I wonder, if it's possible to transplant female organs, with the consent, of these families, of death women (who have signed organ donor cards), given the level of today's technology, compared to the early 1930s.

Please click, on the following links, for more information, about Lili Elbe and the truth, behind the movie, The Danish Girl:

Just The Facts (May 21, 2016)

As I read
The daily news
People are being confused
By the various usage
Of labels.

The trans-community

Never realizing
The term
Is an umbrella heading
For us.

That covers
Many diverse groups:

(Male to female/Female to Male)
Cross dressers/transvestites
Drag kings/queens
Gender queers
And two spirited.

Just to name
A few of the groups
Standing beneath
This growing umbrella
Of ours.

For which
I must apologize
On behalf
Of my community
To the cis-world.

For people
Like Lili Elbe
And I.

We are

Wanting to live
Our lives
Full time.

As our chosen gender
By having surgeries
To remove
Our offending genitals.

If medically
Or financially possible
That is.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The following links, provide more information, about the trans-community:

Friday, 20 May 2016

Facing A Truth (May 20, 2016)

Don't fully understand
Why I'm crying
Right now
In a public place.

A slow stream
Of tears
Stain my face.

And please
The next moron
Who says:

"It's because
Of the hormones
I'm taking."

A good swift kick
To their family jewels.

As if
Having estrogen flowing
In my body
Will radically change
My emotions.

Have a newsflash
For you.
To starting estrogen
My soulscape was
An emotional wasteland
Of repressed emotions.

To fully consume
My body and soul
In a toxic maelstrom
Of negativity.

Just hold
The shiny little
Estrogen pill
In my hand.

Was enough
To give myself
To be
My true self.

And physically.

You'll never understand
No matter.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Early on, during my transitioning, I have been asked, several times, how I felt emotional, since starting estrogen, to which, I told them, the true. Emotionally, I'm repressing my emotions, less than I was, as a male. Otherwise, I haven't noticed any difference, except my bouts of depression, don't seem, as deep as, before starting estrogen, more prolong, in duration.

A Sad Reality (May 19, 2016)

Cut the soul
Like a hot knife
Through butter.

As it weeps
Bitter salty tears
That corrodes everything
They touch.

A confident young child
Into a cowering baby.

Of its own shadow
And loud noises.

The punches
Fall like
A steady rainstorm
Upon the body.

The runoff collects
In red pools
Staining everything
In a shade of rust.

That comes
Into contact
With it.

Gather around
To watch
The latest
Afterschool fight.

Letting loose
Their blood thirsty
Savage side
In a circle of hate.

All rules of war
Don't exist.

Just win.

That poor excuse
Who got pommelled
Within inches
Of their life.

"Join the crowd
In celebrating
The glorious victory
Over that wimp."
Never mind
The victor is
Most despite bully
In the school.

Or that
The vanquished
Will go home
And attempt suicide

Only failing
The knot came

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: There are elements of my own life, interweaved, within the above poem. As for those people, who think, things will get better, are totally out to lunch, in believing a simplex slogan, will change a person's life. Sorry, honey that only works, in Hollywood. What is really needed, is a strong supporting network that breaks through the sense of isolation, which is compounded by a feeling of helplessness and hopelessness, that this type of oppression will ever end.

I think, if this type of support had existed, for me, during the 1970s and 1980s, I wouldn't be so traumatized and suffering severely, from mental illness, like I am. I know, only speculation, on my part, but leading thought is proving that measures that support and break through isolation, will reduce occurrence of mental illness and suicide attempts. Something, the current health system has been short, in delivering.

Thursday, 19 May 2016

Thursday's Wanderings (May 19, 2016)

Am not
The first
To share.

What it means
To be trans
In a cis-world.

Nor pretend
That I am.

Just too dumb
To keep
My mouth shut
About the injustices
And barriers
My community faces.

In breaking
The deadly silence
We have kept
For too long.

Out of shame
And justifiable fear
Of attracting
Even more
Negative attention.

From those
Filled with blind hate
And ignorance.
I reached
That point
In my life.

Continue running
Or stop
And stand my ground.

I had nothing more
To lose

In cutting out
What I was taught
Is more important
Part of my life:

My family.

For health reasons
And physically.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Almost 11years, the moderator of my Male to Female support group, suggested, I should start writing a journal or something, to deal with the struggles, I was facing, as I attempted to transition, at work. Like anybody, who heard, a smart and reasonable suggestion, I resisted and prognosticated, for almost a year, afterwards, until March 30, 2007, when I posted my written first poem, since leaving high school, in 1990. And the rest, is history, as they say.

Hostel (2007)

She lays on her bed, thinking of better days and times from her past;
When, she could afford to treat herself to finer foods or a night out on the town;
Instead of being dependent on the hostel for her daily food and nightly shelter;
A temporary measure until she can stand financially on her own feet again;
Right now, its a dream that seems, as far as the Earth is from the Moon.

Feeling like a stranger in a strange land, she uses the hostel for the first time;
Having always been living on her own since going away to university;
Seventeen years of independent living is gone overnight, in a blink of an eye;
Struggling to adjust to a new culture and lifestyle, which is totally alien to her previous life;
Even after a month in the hostel here, she still feels like a fish out of water.

Many of the hostel residents are harden survivors from living on the streets;
Where the only law, is to survive by any means possible at hand;
Whether, you begs, borrows or steals. And lying to everyone, including themselves;
Denying and burying part of their souls, which prevents you from surviving on the streets;
For no one else cares about another face in the crowd, asking for the basic needs of life.

Creating the ultimate disposable product for the disposable society, the poor and the homeless;
People, who by some twist of fate, are now dependent on others for their needs;
While, society has labelled these people, as being lazy and welfare rip-off artists;
Sadly, this view is totally out to lunch, for many of the people are trapped here;
Hasn't society learnt the lessons that Dickens wrote about in his novels? Sadly, it hasn't.

Therisa © 20o7

Author's notes: I wrote, this poem, after leaving the woman's homeless shelter, in 2007. Not exactly sure, of the day and month, I wrote it, but do know, it was between July 4 and November 8, 2007. As I have lost the original copy of this poem. And yes, my writing style has changed over the years.

Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Not A Victimless Crime (May 18, 2016)

A word
That's forever etched
In my mind.

I don't need anyone
To tell me
What it means
To be bullied.

As I struggle
With my recovery
After decades
Of bullying.

From chronic depression
Various anxiety disorders
Suicidal thoughts

Is worsen
By being trans.

In doubling
My odds
Over the general population.

For suffering
Depression anxiety
Compulsive behaviour
(like self-harming)

Would give anything
To never have experience
Night terrors
Or PTSD flashbacks
In my sleep.

As I'm plagued
By chronic insomnia
To the point.

A good night is
Having five hours
Of  uninterrupted

To my world.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Whether, or not, people realize this, but bullying (A form of abuse) is, a crime of power, which won't go away, as long as, there two or more people, in a given locale . The best, we can hope, is to limit the damage that's done, to the victims, by the aggressor.

Tuesday, 17 May 2016

A Day To Mark Ignorance, Of Others (May 17, 2016)

I am
A Technicolour dreamer
For believing.

One day
Homophobia transphobia
And biphobia
Will end.

On more than
One occasion
Been on
The receiving end
Of ignorance filled hate.

I have to.

My bitter tears
Of sorrow
Will never end.

As I reflect
Upon my memories
Of brutality
That I've survived.

Unlike those
Who's names
Are called out
On Day of Trans-Remembrance.

They have found
What was denied
To them
In their lifetime.

My brothers
And sisters.

For your suffering
Will never be

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Written for International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia and Biphobia. In hoping, each year, is the last year, we have to mark this,

Just Watch Me (May 17, 2016)

A charismatic soul
Who charmed the women
Young and old
Throughout his life.

(Some called him
A lady's man.)

Canada's answer
To Beatlemania
During his years
In politics.

An independent spirit
Who never took no
As the final answer
When he believed
He was right.

What it means
To lead.

Times of crisis.

In Canada
And around
The world.

More escapes
Than Houdini
With his political life.

In repatriating
Canada's constitution
(In 1982)
From Great Britain
Without Quebec's

His famous (1984) walk
His retirement
From public life.

He kept private
Until his death
In September 2000.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The title of this poem, is the answer, that he gave, when asked, how far was he willing to go, in response, to the FLQ Crisis, in 1970. For more details, on this, please click on the following link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/October_Crisis

A Chance For Hope? (May 17, 2016)

Someone pinch me
To wake me up
Telling me
It isn't a dream
I am having.

Too many times
In the past
(Six previous denials)
We have reached
This point.

To have
The rug pulled out
From us.

As if
Transgender rights
Doesn't matter
In a societal
And legal sense
In Canada.

Pardon me
As I wipe away
Tears of joy
And hope
For Bill C-16.

What's written
On paper
Won't change

One needs
A starting point
For real change
To occur.

Bill C-16
Is it.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Today (May 17, 2016), Canada's federal government has proposed constitutional change that would protect a transperson, under the Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms. Choosing today, as it's International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia and Biphobia, for the announcement. The following link, is the announcement, of this proposed federal legislation:

My biggest fear is, these changes are cosmetic, only,  and don't have any real bite, to them, in protecting people, like myself. Much, like the old Soviet Union's constitution, great on ideals, but pitiful, on implementation.

Monday, 16 May 2016

Untitled (May 13, 2016)

You can
Call me

I say
Can hear them

As if
It was yesterday
They spoke
Their toxic words
To me.

And not

I knew
Why I retain them
Over happier
Encouraging messages
Throughout my life.

Building lofty spires
Of happiness
And encouragement.

Instead of
The numerous graves
My soulscape
I have dug.

Still unfilled.

Those filled
Contain parts
Of my self-confidence
And self-esteem.

Any ceremony
Or marker
Left behind.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Wrote this, on my way, to Friday's art program. Have been struggling with my emotions, lately, and a rising need to isolate myself, from the world, in all manners.

Days Of Darkness (May 16, 2016)

The late Spring Sun
Spills over
Bathing it
In its brightness
And promised warmth.

And yet
For some
Like myself.

It harkens
Another day
Of inner darkness
And battle
With mental illness.

To leave behind
This cavernous hole
That I find myself
Hiding in.

Each step
The entrance's lip
My levels of dread
And anxiety

Nailing me
To the spot
Just short
Of my apartment door.

As if
Another crippling bout
Of agoraphobia
Is preparing
To strike.

It's fangs
Into me.

Still fresh
Of the last bout
That lasted
The Summer of 2014.

A command performance
As a virtual prisoner

The mental walls
Of my mind
For another prolong

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Can feel myself, slipping away, into an agoraphobic Hell, once more. As, it's getting harder, to stay out of my apartment and not be triggered, by other people, when outside of it.

Beyond The Hole (May 14, 2016)

Am not
A vengeful person
Given the path
My life has
Been forced
To follow.

Do I seek it.

Have internalized
This very negative
And destructive energy
Within my body.

Surprising people
At the release
Of my anger
At someone.

As if
Mt St Helen's
Had exploded
Without warning.

Am very willing
To overlook
A lot of things
And move on.

And yet
People are shocked
Never seeing
The tattletale signs
Of an impending venting
Before them.

Am I
So opaque
No one sees

Or being taken
For granted.

Like Mikey
In the old Life cereal

Who'll eat
Before him.

These pigeonholes
That people place us

Therisa © 2016

Approaching The Explosion Point (May 16, 2016)

Saturday, 14 May 2016

Under Control (May 14, 2016)

Won't pretend
I understand
Why people read
My poetry.

Other poets

Who write
More technically
On more conventional subjects
Than I do.

As I struggle
For daily balance
And restraint
With mental illness.

What it means
To live life
As a woman.

Too often
Am fighting
To remain upright
Just below
My equilibrium point.

As anxiety/panic attacks
Strip me
Of whatever dignity
In a very public way
For everyone
To see.

My body trembling
So badly
Barely able
To control it.

As if
I have some form
Of palsy
Or neurological

Fighting against
The destructive impulse
To hide-away
Within my apartment.

It's safe.

In knowing
I need to
Face it

If I am
To get better

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Yesterday (May 13, 2016), I was triggered, in a very bad way. While, attending the art program, I go to. It was one, of my worse anxiety attacks, recently. For several hours, my right arm and left leg trembled, uncontrollably. Almost felt like, a metronome, from the trembling. A combination of aromatherapy and sleep, I have gotten the anxiety attack, under control, last night.

Friday, 13 May 2016

Distant Voices (May 13, 2016)

Distant echoes
From my past
Giving voice
To a darkness
That never disappears.

One's soul
In the blackest
Of blacks.

Its corrosive
And destructive

Leaving me
A hollowed out

To make
A move
Or sound.

Drops of acid
Dissolving the soul
Upon contact.

Reducing me
To a little girl
Who's scared
Of the world.

Wetting herself
In abject fear.

As the brutal images
Of a teenage boy
Being constantly
Beaten up.

Loop around
In her mind's eye
Startling crystal clear
4k picture clarity.

Wanting to hide.

To go.

Ever deeper
Into the darkness
And madness
Of self-denial.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Found myself, this morning, filled with dark thoughts and images, which happens, on an occasion, to me. Just writing them, as the safest way, of dealing, with them, in a constructive way.

Faith (January 14, 2015)

Like a shotgun blast
My emotions are
before me.

That tangents off
In all directions
At once.

Leaving me
Feeling vulnerable
To the slightest
Emotional breeze
Across my soul.

As the tears flow
At the gentlest
Of touch
Upon my heartstrings.

Smothering remains
Of blackened holes
Once contained
My burnt out eyes
Stare blankly.

And I wonder
Why bother.

As I slip away
With every breath
I take.

Into the embrace
Of darkness.

Therisa © 2015

Author's note: An older and darker poem.

Thursday, 12 May 2016

An Offering Of Hope (May 12, 2016)

"Hardest part
Of any creativity
Is coming up
With something new
Every time ."
-Therisa Godwaldt

If one listens
Very carefully
You can hear it.

A distance howl
Of a wolf matriarch
Who's crying
In pain.

At the abandonment
Of her words
During this time
Of need.

As anger
And frustration

And yet
Sweet poetry
Flows through
The core of her body
Like a river does
Through a canyon.

At times
Our words
Will ebb and flow
Like the tides do
Upon the shore.

Bringing us
A different perspective
On the world
Around us.

As we try
To understand
The chaos
Of everyday life
With little success.

Forcing us
To have
The patience of Job
In decoding everything.

Please be
Ever so gentle
Upon yourself
'Til that eureka moment
Greets you
With your morning coffee
And newspaper.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: This is, my gift to Sherry Blue Sky. who requested that I post it, on my blog, as she struggles, with a prolong writer's block. Do hope, she finds her muse, once more, thus able, to share her unique spiritual writings.

Birthday Wishes, For A Ghost (May 12, 2016)

And happy birthday

I could be
Sharing this
In person
With you.

And not
To your departed

Who left us
Almost 16 years ago
On a November night.

Much has change
In the family

Not all
For the better.

A wall of silence
And distance
Has been built
To stop
The hurting
I have endured.

How I miss
Your protective presence
In my life.

In making
The biggest things
Appear small
And totally bearable.

In vanishing
Those ghosts
And daemons
That haunted me.

Pardon me
As your eldest daughter.

Your eldest daughter
And not son).

Wipes away
A tear or two
From her eyes

Wishing you
The warmest thoughts
On the anniversary
Of your birth date.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Today, would have been my dad's 80th birthday, if he hadn't die, on November 15, 1998, from a fatal heart attack, on November 13th. A day doesn't go by, which I find myself, missing his presence, in my life.

Nothing Is Perfect (May 12, 2016)

I don't write
To crucify
The institution
Of motherhood.

Am dealing
With the hurt
And pain.

One misdirected

For whom
The world identifies
As my birth mother.

Never realizing
Or believing
Some women
Aren't meant
To become mothers.

Driving a car
That requires
One to earn
A license.

Child rearing

One is thrown
Into shark infested waters
Without any safety measures
And expected
To thrive.

Most do
For those
Who don't
The children suffer.

As I did
With my mom.

My younger brother
Went ballistic
In the summer of 1985.

Not sure.

It was pride
Or guilt.

In failing
With us.

That kept her
For reaching out
To the community
And family
For help.
Only hindsight

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: A reflective thought, on yesterday's poem, The Caged Bird, that I wrote. Yes, I retain a lot of anger and hostility, towards my mom, for the things that she did to me, over the years, which has harmed me, in my development, as a person, and her child. And yet, I wonder, how things would have turned out, had someone intervened, and took my brother out, and helped him, to deal with his own issues, which he took out, on the rest of the family.

Wednesday, 11 May 2016

The Caged Bird (May 11, 2016)

These gilded bars
Of a golden cage
You keep me
As your canary bird.

In the mistaken belief
You're protecting
A fragile
And weak creature.

Expecting me
To be
Your little bird
Of happiness.

Sweet melodies
Of love.

Never mind
My soul is
Filled with sad songs
Of the blues.

As depression
Sets in.

To spread out
My wings.

A gentle Spring breeze
With the other birds
In finding
My true love.

My emaciated body
Hangs there
Upon the perch.

Waiting for
Death's arrival
And release.

You'll never understand
Why I need this

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: A metaphor, for the relationship, with my mom.

Tuesday, 10 May 2016

When The Past Bleeds Through (May 10, 2016)

A distant
And muffled knock
From the past.

A heavy door
I dare not open.

As fear
And self-loathing
Fill my soul
To overflowing.

In grabbing
I can
To barricade it.

It grows louder
In my mind.

The barriers collapse.

Leaving me
Reliving the abuse
All over

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For those, who don't know, I'm a survivor, of childhood abuse, by my younger brother. Even though, its been almost, a decade, since I last seen him, I still get these flashbacks, of the violence, he did, to my mom and I. For years, my mentally constructed doors, kept these memories, at a distance, until August 14, 2007, when a very severe panic attack, destroyed my defences, and these memories flooded me.

Welcome, To My World (May 10, 2016)

Through my words
You enter
A dimensional gate.

Unlike any
You've seen before.

Transporting you
To a world of wonder
And pain.

Where happy endings
Are the creation
Of faerie
And old wives tales.

As true darkness
And horror
Can be found
A stanza away.

If you dare.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Just a hint of horror.

What The.... (May 10, 2016)

Society thinks
The trans-community is nuts
In removing
Those sexual characteristics
That brand us
In our birth gender.

Never realizing
The many psychological hurdles
We must jump over
Before a blade is used
Upon our bodies.

Your average Joe Shmoe
(Justin Jedica)
Decides to transform
His body
Into a living Ken doll.

Just puts down
His plastic
And 190+ surgeries

Wants more
A walking pile
Of implants
And other foreign objects.

And people say
I am crazy
For wanting
To live my life
As a woman.


Has this man tried
To work out
His psychological issues
In a less evasive manner?

Before he goes
One surgery
Too many.

Destroying his body
And his immune system.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: I saw something about Justin, in my Yahoo! news feed, and did an Internet search on him, which I found, the following link to him:

After The Ice Age (May 10, 2016)

So slowly
The days are
Getting longer
And warmer.

As Winter
Is left

And yet
A cold lingering

A throwback
To the days
Glaciers covered
My soul
In their frigid grip.

Crushing everything
A wish for oblivion
And a permanent
Soul's rest.

As tears
Like glacier fled rivers
Carry away
The rumble of my soul
To parts unknown.

I must traverse
Across my soul's fjords
The real meaning
Of living life.

A journey
Than facing Death

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Just feeling blah, today. And yes, I do finder harder, to live life, than to embrace Death. Always, have seem Death, as the equalizer, in balancing out, one's pain and suffering.

Just The Way, It Was (May 10, 2016)

Am surprise
By your reaction to
A part of my life.

From the 1980s
And early 1990s.

Dark times
For the LGBT+ community
As we were forced
To confront several epidemics
At once.

Not all
Were related to
The emerging killer

Being expose
To the virulent hate
For the first time
Of transphobia
And homophobia.

Not from
Other kids
But adults.

Already have
That t-shirt
Years ago.

I started kindergarten
In 1975.

Along with
The PTSD flashbacks
Auditory and visual
In constant rotation
Throughout the years.

I thought
With the gaining of age
One got smarter and wiser
About the world
Around them.

Just part
Of the curse
An optimistic-pessimist.

I know
It's an oxymoron
Like military intelligence.

So sue me.

On second thought
Better not
Still have money leftover
From my disability cheque.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Guess, the little things that most people take for granted, are those memories, which filled us, with sadness and regret.

Monday, 9 May 2016

Only If.... (September 4, 2012)

School year
Is starting up
And I find myself
Looking backwards.

What if I had gone
To my senior prom.

Whom I am
A girl
Dressed in
A formal dress.

"Forever young"
Is played
At the last dance.

This isn't
The reality
Of what happen.

I stayed home
Between perception
And reality.

Having to wear
To a suit
If I wished
To attend.

As well been
Wearing a straitjacket
Is how I feel
About having to
Wear a suit.


Therisa © 2012

Author's note: I can relate, to Ms. Wolf, and her wearing a suit, to her prom, which the school strongly objected to, by threatening, to call, the police on her. For more information, please click on the following link: https://ca.style.yahoo.com/post/144105521800/school-threatens-to-call-police-on-girl-who-wore

Joys Of Insomnia (May 9, 2016)

My tired brain
Tries to focus
On the task
At hand.

As my fingers
Keep on missing
Their proper keys
To type.

One huge dyslexic
To decode
And unscramble.

Do I
Move the mouse
Over this mess
And delete it?

Save it
For a later time?

By attempting
To apply
Some sense of order
To brain-fogged creation
Of mine.

As I hear
My pillows calling
Like the Siren
Of Greek mythology
To my bed.

Shall I surrender
Any hope
Of a night's rest
Is gone
For tonight.

Cursing me
To another night
Of a brain
In overdrive.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: As a child, I've experienced, a chronic problem, of falling to sleep, which has worsen, over the years, with the PTSD flashbacks, and 3 feline companions, who want my love and attention, at the oddest hours. A good night's sleep, means 6-7 hours of uninterrupted rest, if I'm lucky.

Friend Or Foe? (May 9, 2016)

Often wonder
How doe we know
If the person posting
On the web
Is real
Or a troll?

As stories
Fill the airwaves
Of predators
Who have lured
Too many innocent victims
To their deaths.

Scammed people
Out of their life savings
With fake illnesses
And promises.

A question
I ask.

How vulnerable
Some communities are
Like my own
The transgender.

Exposing ourselves
To these monsters
And their evil intent.

In the hope
Of friendship
And validation.

Of whom
We are
As a person.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Another night, of broken sleep, found me, wide awake, during the wee hours of this morning. After a futile attempt to get back to sleep, I got out my writing book, and started to write. This is, the second of two poems, which I managed to produce, in an hour's time, before I crashed out, for the rest of the night.

Finding myself, needing to ask, this very important question. Given the huge number of people, who have fallen prey, to these monster. But, as a trans-person, I have a fear, I may fall, for such, a monster, myself. Especially, given my abusive past, and my lack of self-confidence and self-esteem.

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