Highway Robbery (January 30, 2016)

www.huffingtonpost.ca

As a diabetic

Am told

I need to eat healthy.

And yet

How does one

Do so

On a fixed limited budget?

Especially

With the daily depreciation

Of the Canadian dollar

(The loonie)

Against the greenback?

Or 

The extreme weather

That Mexico and California

Have experiencing

Of late.

In the past 2 month

My buying power

Has declined

By 40 %

For fresh fruits

And vegetables.

Luckily

The prices of frozen

Fruits and veggies

Haven't changed

Much.

Unlike those

On Ontario Works

(Read welfare)

I have some cushion

To protect me.

But

I refuse

To buy canned fruits

And veggies.

Given their levels

Of sugar and salt.

Or

The outrageous price

Of $3.95

For a bunch

Of celery.

Find myself

Refusing to pay

These outrageous prices

For fresh produces.

Instead

Choosing

To go without

Until some sanity

Is restore

At the checkout counter.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Yesterday (January 29, 2016), at a local fresh fruit and vegetable market, I saw green peppers, selling for $7.70/kg ($3.50/lb). These prices aren't, from northern Canada, rather, from Toronto. Lets just say, I bought only four of them, to make soups and chili, over the next few weeks. I know, I won't be buying celery, any time soon, give the current price of $3.50 +.


Sigh.

Putting My Pen Down (January 27, 2016)

Um

Excuse me

Star

This is not

Your bed.

But

My writing book

You're claiming

For yourself.

As I

Madly

Write down

My scribbles 

Upon its pages.

That few people

Can read

Without an atomic microscope

To magnify

My handwriting.

Honestly

Do you mind

This small space

Of mine

Star?

When

You have

My entire apartment

At your disposal.

To do

As you

Please with.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Sigh. What can I say, cats rule. Star, unlike Venus and Squeak, who love to use my writing books, as a scratchpads, Star, only wants to sleep on it, while I am writing, during the night's late hours, into the wee hours of the morning.

Wake Me Up, When It's May (January 27, 2016)

www.memecenter.com

Cruelest part

Of Winter

Is almost over.

As the "Killing" Moon

Slowly resides

Into the distant horizon

Marking the end

Of January.

February brings forth

The old Celtic observation

Of Imbolc

Winter's midpoint.

We

North Americans

Have changed

To Groundhog Day

With silly rituals

To predict

Winter's end.

(Never mind

It's my birthday

As well.

(Which

I've stopped celebrating

Since 1984

With the sudden death

Of my opa.)

As if

This rudely awaken

Hibernating rodent

Can see it's shadow

Through the glare

Of the TV camera lights.

Sheesh

Anything for

A buck or two

That tourists bring.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: For more information about the Celtic celebration of Imbolc, you can check out, the following wikipedia entry: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imbolc .


Personally, February 2nd, seems to be a magnet for bad events for me, as I'm, either sick with a cold/flu or something bad happens. Honestly, I wish I could hibernate, until May, when the warmer weather is here, and there's no chance of a late snowstorm, like the ones that happen, in April.

Why Can't I Be You? (January 26, 2016)

www.motherjones.com

Courage:

[kur-ij, kuhr-]

noun

1.

the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear; bravery.

2.

Obsolete. the heart as the source of emotion.

Idioms

3.

have the courage of one's convictions, to act in accordance with one's beliefs, especially in spite of criticism.

source: www.dictionary.com

A gentle

But sad sigh

Escapes my lips

As tears roll down

My face.

In trying

To find

That inner strength.

That you say

Shines like a beacon

Through the darkness

I have walked

In my journey

To here.

Having lost

Everything of value

To my body and soul.

For this need

Of mine.

Correcting

A genetic birth defect

Being born

Within the wrong body

Of a male.

Which

Society views

As normal.

Despite

Viewing myself

As a woman trapped

Within a male shell

Of a body.

Won't burden you

With the years

Of abuse and bullying

That has marked my life.

Since

I realized

This inner truth

At the tender age

Of four.

Within my head

The voices

Of my abusers

Ringing out.

Cursing me

With such crude

And hurtful language.

No child should

Ever know.

Fuelling their need

For power

And control.

By expressing

Their fear

At that

Which

Is different.

Sadly

As adults

These children

Haven't learnt their lessons.

As the fire

Of transphobia

And homophobia

Burns brightly

In their souls.

Consuming

Whatever remains

Of their logic centre

In a Gray hateful ash.

And yes

There times

I have felt

My life

At risk.

In spite

Of this fact

I move forward

In my healing pilgrimage.

Uniting my body

With the feminine soul

I was born

Within.

Thus

Completing

This cycle.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: By the age of twelve, I had attempted, at least 3 different times, to end my life, which I have never told my parents, about. My last 3 years of high school, was marked, by a nightly visit to the kitchen, where I tried to pierce my chest, with one of the meat knives, but I lack the strength to push it, into my chest cavity.


After coming out, accidently, to my mom, over the 2006 Canada Day long weekend, she told me:


"Hell would have to freeze over, and I would have to, come crawling on my hands and knees, begging her, for forgiveness, before she would think about it."


Needless, to say, I was thrown for a dark suicidal depression that lasted, the entire month of July. Nearly costing my job, as a result. With the help and support of a very special friend, I wouldn't be here, to share this, with the world. Thank you, Z.


The title of this poem, is a reference to the British Goth group, The Cure, who's dark and melodic tunes have helped me, during my bout of dark depression. Also, refers to my needing to live my life, as a woman, who is...simply elegance.

Untitled (January 25, 2016)



www.kellywpa.com

Feel like

The general

That's about

To sign

Terms of surrender papers.

As I face

The real possibility

Of having to start

Insulin

On February 5th.

A fact

My doctor shared

During my appointment

This morning.

Should my A1C

Come back

Extremely high

Like last September test

At 10.

People tell me

Not to sorry.

But

They don't have

To stab themselves

With a needle

On a daily basis.

Or have

An extreme phobia

To needles.

Even

Using a lancet

To prick myself

Fills my soul

With a paralyzing anxiety.

Needing a year

Before

Able to do it

Myself.

This is

One birthday present

I dread

To receive.

Even if

It comes

Three days later.

And people wonder

Why I don't celebrate

My birthday.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: In September 2007, two months, after leaving the homeless shelter, I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes. Sadly, last year, as I struggled, with my mental health, I went off, all of my medications (for HRT and diabetes), for least four months. Am, now, paying the price, for doing so.

Occupation Hazard Of Being Human (January 12, 2016)

www.en.yibada.com

In my mind

Numerous voices

Are sparring

For my attention.

And yet

I find myself

Drifting

Ever so slightly

Into "no man's land".

Retreating

From reality

Into my own protective space.

Where

No one can

Touch me.

Being around people

For most of the day

Drains my soul

Of its spark.

Like a battery

Left on

For too long

I crash.

Without

The necessary energy

For my eyes

To flash:

 

"Tilt".

As seen

In cartoons.

Needing

An hour or two

With my cats

Or rest.

To recharge

Once more.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Not sure, if I should feel blessed or cursed, in being, an introvert, who suffers from anxiety/panic attacks, in crowded situations, like rush hour traffic, on the public transit. The simple act of taking public transit, during rush hour, takes on new dimension, even after, I have taken CBT, at a local hospital, for my body and soul, are totally drained of energy, as I need to release the shock, and recharge. It's not unusual, for me, to let several streetcars, bus or subway trains, to go by, before I feel comfortable, in boarding one. Even with, a companion, along for the ride, with me.

Just The Way, It Is (January 23, 2016)

www.susans.org

Hello

My name is

Therisa.

Does this

Bother you?

As you say:

"Male".

As if

It was

The most vilest

Curse word

You know.

Correct me

If I'm wrong.

But didn't

Your religious belief

Teach you.

To treat others

As you want them

To treated you?

Especially

Volunteering

At a food/clothing bank

For disadvantaged "women"

And families?

I write this

Not to embarrass you.

Rather

Trying to understand

Why you harbour

Such ill will

Towards me.

Honestly

I wish

It was possible.

For you

To experience

The "Hells"

I have travelled

Through.

Just to reach

This stage

Of my life.

Actively

Attempting to

Correct

This genetic mistake.

Of being born

In the wrong gendered

Body.

Is this

Asking

Too much?

For compassion

And a helping hand

Towards

A fellow human being.

For some

It is.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: On January 19th, I walked up, to a nearby food/clothing bank, ran by, a local Christian organization, in Toronto. For the first time, in 13 months, I was made to feel like, I didn't belong there, by one particular volunteer, there. Guess, I shouldn't be surprised, given my past experienced, with "religious" people and their gross intolerance, towards those, who challenge their perception of "what is right and wrong". In their quoting verses, from the Talmud and the New Testament, at me, saying my soul is, eternally damned, for being a trans-lesbian.


I didn't feel right, in challenge this person, outright, rather tried to pass it, by saying, I'm transitioning, which is true. Maybe, the next time, if I see her, I will ask, if we can go to a separate room, and try to enlighten her, about her rudeness and ignorance. If she is willing, to keep an open mind, while we talk.


For the record, I'm not, a practicing Jew, Christian, or Muslim. Rather, find myself, leaning towards Animism, which some "People of the Book" would view me, as being Pagan.  Never mind, I was forced by my mom, to attend various Protestant churches, until my mid-teens, when I said, "enough". Never have felt comfortable, in any of these churches. In fact, one church made me feel, like I was walking over the graves of dead.

The Mountain Of Life (January 20, 2016)

www.agreekadventure.com

It stands

Before me

Like K2

Or Mount Everest.

Taunting me

To assault

Its steep slopes.

My hands

Searching for

That elusive grip

To propel me

Upwards.

Having spent

What seems

Like an eternity

On this rocky outcrop.

Scared

To look down

Where I've climbed

Over the past decade.

Afraid

I'll lose my footing

As vertigo

Over takes me.

(My fear of heights

Is second

To that

Of needles.)

Having

Already fallen

Backwards.

Losing several meters

(And years)

As a result.

Forced

To restart

From the base

Up.

Without

The same margin

Of error.

I

Once

Had.

Knowing

My future health

And any possibility

Of SRS.

Hang

In the balance.

Regaining control

Over my Type II diabetes

And mental health.

As I retrace

My steps

Upon the rock cliff.

Hoping

Of reaching

My dream's summit.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Yesterday (January 19, 2016), I had an appointment, with my diabetic nurse and dietitian, at their downtown Toronto office, as part of the follow-up, to my starting a new med, just before Christmas, last year. At the time, my glucose reading were dangerously high, in the low to mid-20s mmol/L. In Canada, a healthy person, should readings between 4 and 6 mmol/L, during a blood test. A diabetic is considered, within acceptable levels, if they test, between 4 and 7 mmol/L, before eating or drinking any food. At two hours afterwards, it increases between 5 and 10 mmol/L, for diabetics.


Lucky me, I get to see my family doctor and have fasting blood work done, tomorrow morning. A task, I'm not looking forward to, in having, to go and see the vampires, in the lab. Sigh.

Mt. Melancholy (Janaury 18, 2016)

www.emaze.com

Today

I find myself

Walking

Under the shadow

Of darkness.

As old memories

Spring forth

Like an avalanche.

Cascading down

The snow covered

Mountainside.

As if

I have taken

The wrong trail

Into a forbidden area

With my ignorance.

Burying me

So deep

In the memories

Of a darker time.

Each passing second

The burden grows heavier

Upon my soul.

Am struggling

To find up

From down

With little avail.

Feeling

My inner spark

Growing dimmer

As the tears fall

Down my face.

Knowing

How easy

It would be

To surrender myself

And let everything

Go.

In my wanting

To remain

In the foetal position.

Until

My oxygen runs out

Fading out

Into the night

Forever.

But

I know

These feeling

Shall pass.

As I dig

My way out

Into the light

Once more.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Not exactly sure, what triggered the events of last Monday, January 18, 2016, when I found myself, buried, under a sudden wave of dark memories. Almost 36 hours later, am still struggling with the aftermath of this, as emotionally, I feel numb, and have lost all contact, with my poetic muse. If I was, to describe this, it feels like a PTSD flashback, without any of the visible images, normally, would have experienced, with one. In being, a total sensory overload of my emotions, in a three hour period, on Monday. Much like the type, I would associate, around my electrical burn, to my mouth, as a four year old.

Fortress Europa (January 9, 2016)

www.caef.org.uk

By land or sea

They come

In seeking

The "Promise Land".

Like the Jews

Being led

By Aaron.

Heading north

And west

At great peril

And cost.

In money

And lives lost.

Only

To find

A desolate land

Filled with hate

And fear.

As spools

After spools

Of razor wire

Is strung

Across the land.

Bringing back

Darker memories

Of a deadlier time.

When

An "iron curtain" draped

Across Europe.

In turning

A relative "peaceful" continent

Into an armed camp

With twitchy fingers

On triggers.

As the dead bodies

Wash ashore

In the Mediterranean

And Aegean Seas.


Therisa © 2016

Author's notes: As a Canadian, from the safe haven, of my apartment, living afar, from the developing situation, in Europe, it's so easy, for me, to critique, the actions of the various European nations have taken, in regards, to the flood of African and Asian immigrants and refugees, over the past 5 years. Especially, after extreme violence that has gripped France, Belgium and to, a lesser degree, Germany, over the past year.


As Politicians and right wing extremists have been quick, to blame IS and thus, by extension, the growing Muslim population, who are, the grandchildren and great grandchildren, of migrant workers and refugees, who fled colonial wars, during the 1960s. Have grown frustrated, with the current political and economic system that offers no hope of improvement, by turning to alternative solutions, like extreme Islamic beliefs. This political backlash is fuelling, the growing feeling of xenophobia and isolationism, among these "native" populations.


I realize, there are no quick solutions, this growing unrest, but it's time, for politicians to act, and take decisive action, for the current system has shown itself, to be flawed, and in serious need of overhaul, if Europe wants to avoid the racial riots, like the United States did, during the 1960s. A plan, which meet the needs, of each individual country and not patchwork affair, which only covers up, the gaping holes of European society. Important ideas that have worked, in Canada, but doesn't take into account, the historical problems of decolonialization and dealing with a multicultural society of today.

No Thanks, I'm Vegetarian (January 10, 2016)

www.fitstylelife.com

Don't understand

Why people are

So surprised

At my rejection

Of their holiday meal.

Knowing

There is little

To none

I will eat

Of the meal.

Due to

Personal

And medical reasons.

Smell of cooking meat

Is enough

To make me

Nauseous.

Although

Must admit

To indulging

In the odd craving

Of fish and chips.

So sue me.

Sadly

Am Type II diabetic

(Thanks mom

For this genetic inheritance).

Forcing me

To be

Very selective

On my dinner plate.

As

Traditional veggies served

At high holiday feasts

Contain high sugars

And starches.

A fact

I don't need reminding

As I try keep myself

From needing

To injection Insulin shots.

Never mind

My anxiety levels

Max out

In crowded

And noisy situations.

Triggering

My need for quiet space.

Else

Am facing

A nasty panic attack.

I thank you.

But

In all fairness

Have to say

"No"

To your generous offer.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Not sure, what triggered this mental discussion, which resulted, in the poem, before you. But I had to get these thoughts out, before they drove me, nuts. Every high holiday feast, like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, my building has a get-together, for the tenants, put on, by the staff, here, which I have politely declined.


For Christmas, last year, a food bank that I visit, when times are tight, was giving away tickets, for a free Christmas dinner, which I declined, disappointing another tenant, from my building, who wanted me, to accompany her, to it.


Sigh.


I can't win, for losing.

Poetic Letter To Dad (January 15, 2016)

www.affairscloud.com

Dad

I know

You have taught me

To suppress my emotions.

As you felt

I wasn't behaving

Like a six

Or seven year old boy.

And not

The real me

Who I viewed

As a girl.

A lesson

I have learnt

All too well.

But now

Dad

We need to

Part company

On this

For my continuing healing.

True

In the past

I have used

My pent-up anger

As an energy source

On steroids.

As

I waged war

Against the systematic barriers

Society has placed

Before me.

In regarding

My various learning disabilities

Abuse survivor

Constant struggle

With mental illness

And being

A transsexual.

I promise you

Dad

This doesn't mean

Mom's and M's actions

Are forgotten

By me.

Doing so

Would be saying:

"The Nazis didn't kill

Over 6 million Jews

Or used death camps

To so."

But

Am scared

By releasing

These suppressed emotions.

I'll experience

More bouts

Of PTSD rage.

Like the ones

I have experienced

In the past.

Which

A murderous rage

Consume my soul

Leaving nothing behind.

Only reason

I am not rotting

In a federal jail cell

Psychiatric hospital

For the criminally insane

Or six feet under.

Is pure luck

Of being isolated

From this person

Who sparked this rage.

Alas 

They don't know

Of this

And hope

They never do.

Soft sigh

Escapes my lips

As I hope

My worse fears

Are totally groundless.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Occasionally, I write these poetic notes, to my love ones, like this, to my dad (who died November 15, 1998), as a way of expressing those thoughts that I have trouble speaking, out loud. Only wish, I could have told him, the truth, about myself, being transsexual, before his untimely death.

Therisa Scriptor Pax (January 9, 2016)

www.cares2.com

Silence

The sound

I welcome.

And yet

Dread.

In wondering

If this lull is

Another trap

To ensnare me

In harm's way.

Or

The first moments

Of a lasting truce.

Unknown

To me

Until now.

Being able

To trek

Across my soulscape

Without stepping on

A landmine.

Or

Having a sniper

Taking verbal shots

With deadly accuracy

To my soul.

Degrading me.

As if

I have

No absolute value.

Laying to rest

These painful

And toxic memories

Of abuse

Into their graves.

Able

To sleep

A full night rest.

Without being awakened

By the slightest touch

Or sound.

More importantly

No more flashbacks

Or night terrors.


Therisa © 2016

Prepping For Soul Soup (January 13, 2016)

Photo from http://www.hubpages.com

Sitting down

With a paring knife

And a cooking onion

In my hands.

Taking my time

To ensure

No fingers are nicked

By the slicing blade.

Pruning back

The dry and crumbly

Dead layers

Into the garbage bag.

As if

I'm paring back

My life

Before me.

Trying not

To rub

My burning eyes.

Whose tear ducts

Are overflowing

With sadness

From past memories.

With each layer

I have removed

Before placing it

On the cutting board.

All the time

Wishing

I was handling

Its milder cousin

The Leek.

For the soup pot.

As a stray hand

Starts rubbing

An eye or two.

Trying to ease

The stinging

I feel.

Knowing

It's a task

I have to face.

As crying

Is cathartic

For ones soul.

In removing

The dead memories

We have gathered

Over our life.

Allowing us

To move on.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: This poem is, my 2500th written one, since I started writing poetry, on March 31, 2007, as suggested to me, by the group moderator, of my M2F support group, at the 519, in Toronto.

Opening Up One's Eyes (November 7, 2015)

Courtesy of www.newwayministery.wordpress.com

In my mind

The old Negro gospel

"We shall overcome"

Is being sung

Before my eyes.

Looking back

More than 60 years

In the struggle

For Civil Rights

And true equality.

Of the many senseless deaths

Which mark

Our journey forward

From the darkness

Of hate and fear.

Despite

The many legal battles

Fought and won.

Still

I feel like

A third class citizen

In the country

I was born

In.

With it's rigid hierarchy

That places

Anyone

Who is different

On the outside

Looking in.

Tolerating us

Like a boorish family member

They want

To disappear.

I wish

You could experience

A week

In my shoes.

Confronting

The societal

And institutional barriers

You've erected

Over the centuries.

In keeping

Yourself

Safe

From the reality

Of my life.

Realizing

Your position of power

Is paid.

At a heavy price

By people

Like myself.


Therisa © 2015

Author's note: This is, one of two poems that I wrote for Day of Trans-Remembrance, November 20, 2015. The other one, titled, "The Crater", is in the process of having a clay ceramic statue being created, as I write this. Am hoping, I can have it painted and done, its second and final firing. Thus, being able to post together, here.


For those, who are just discovering me, I have survived numerous attempts on my life, from a family member, whom I have broken off, all ties with, since August 2007. Also, have threatened, by various individuals, who have chased me, on foot or by rode the back of my legs, with their car, while laughing, about it. As if, it was one huge joke, with me, being the punch line, to it.


And sadly, I have tried, on numerous occasions, to take my life, when my depression has reached, such dark levels, the bottom of the Black Sea is a brilliantly lit walk, in the park, by comparison. With my last attempt occurring, during the holiday season of 2010-11.

The Long Run (January 4, 2016)

You think

I would be

Jumping

Over the moon.

Upon achieving

This milestone

Of five years.

Since

My last suicide attempt.

And yet

A sense of sadness

Fills me.

As the tears stream

Silently

Down my face.

Dreading

The coming month

That January is

For me.

Marking

The coldest month

Of the year

Leaving the soul

Bitterly fragile

To the touch.

Each black "X"

Upon the calendar page

Symbolizes

One less day.

Until

The end

Of this race.

And

February's arrival

With its coming thaws.


Therisa © 2016

Author's Note: The month of January, marks the end, of my annual Fall/Winter depression, which has traditionally, seen an increase, in my suicidal feelings, with the two dark periods of November 11th-20th, and December 24th-January 2nd. January 3, 2016, marked the fifth anniversary, of my last suicide attempt, since the holiday season of 2010-11. Also, the first time, since then, I have found myself, on the edge between passively and actively suicidal, with my suicide index, at 5, out of 10. Where 10 means, I have committed suicide, and someone else is writing about my death to you.

Abuse Survivor Reaction To Cologne New Years Eve Celebrations (January 4, 2016)

Protesters marching, against a series of sexual assaults, during Cologne's New Years Eve celebration. (independent.co.uk)



As I read this

Can feel
My anger rising

To the point.

I want to castrate those

Who organized

And executed

This outrage

With a rusty

And dull razor.

Unlike

Donald Trump

I won't jump the gun

And blame this

On immigrants

And refugees.

To do so

Would be using

A sledge hammer

To kill a housefly.

But

I do know

What it feels like

To have survived

Abuse.

Although

Never sexually abused

I endured decades

Of physical

And psychological abuse.

At the hands

Of family members

And those

Close to me.

To the point

I have developed

Chronic depression

Various anxiety disorders

And PTSD.

As these dark memories

Of mine

Are threatening

To resurface

Once more.

Fighting against

The tears

Which threaten

To unleashed themselves

In a flood of bitterness.

If those

Who are responsible

Are refugees or immigrants

Than they deserved

To be deported.

Back

To their country

Of origins.

With

No second chance

Or leniency

For their actions

By the German authorities.


Therisa © 2016




Author's notes: It was January 4th, when I first heard about this outrage, against several female celebrants of Cologne's New Years Eve party, marking the incoming year of 2016. I don't think, we will ever know, what caused these "men" to commit this series of crimes of power, against women. Ever way, these women are re-victimized, again, by the way, local authorities have handled this case, as if they invited these "men" to attack them. Nice going, guys, blaming the victim, for the violence committed against them. Morons!

The following is, the link that outlined, what on New Years Eve, December 31, 2015:

https://ca.news.yahoo.com/video/eve-attacks-women-cologne-stun-154859101.html

Welcome To Canada, Eh? (January 9, 2016)

TheStar.com. Designed by Elise Gravel.

Am

Not surprise

Someone has targeted

A gathering

Outside

Of a Muslim centre.

Given

Canada's long history

Of Xenophobia

And racism.

Myself

The child

Of an immigrant.

Who came

To Canada

During the 1950s

As a teenager.

Anger

And frustration

Grips my soul.

Naively believing

Things would be different

For the newly arriving

Syrian refugees.

Being able

To call

Canada

Their home.

Without any fear

Of being attacked

For their religious beliefs.

In leaving behind

All the violence

Of the Syrian civil war

And the refugee camps.

How I do say

"I'm sorry

For the ignorant actions

Of a few bigots?"

As this

Is your first exposure

To life

In Canada.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: On Friday, January 8, 2016, a group of 30 Syrian refugees, where pepper sprayed, by a passing cyclist, which included children. Under BC law, pepper spray is considered a weapon, and this cyclist will be charged with assault, causing bodily harm. I do hope that this person, has the guts to step forward and take responsible, for his misguided actions. Am, including an link, to the assault.


http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/pepper-spray-attack-1.3396899


Earlier today, a planeload carrying the 10 000th Syrian refugee arrived, in Canada, twelve days later that the Liberal government had originally projected, after realizing the logistic nightmare that faced them. I do hope, with the increase refugees, the Federal and Provincial governments increase the money that spent on mental illness, from its pitiful levels, at the moment. Also, increase their involvement, with affordable housing, for all Canadians, new and old. Thus, everyone benefits from the arrivals of the Syrian refugees.
http://www.reuters.com/article/us-canada-syria-migrants-idUSKCN0UQ2HS20160112

Farewell, David, And Thank You

End of an era

Who's influence

Is being felt

As strongly

Today.

As it was

Forty years ago.

Without Ziggy Stardust

I wonder

Would the New Wave

And Goth explosion

Of the late 1970s

And early 1980s

Happened?

Whether or not

You want to admit this

Marilyn Manson

And Lady Gaga

Owe their careers

To the Thin White Duke.

And yes

Even

The "Material Girl"

Madonna does

Too.

Like Iggy Pop

Who's considered

By many

As the "Godfather"

Of Punk music.

So

Is David Bowie

For the emerging New Wave

And Goth genres

Of the mid-1970s

To early 1980s.

With his fashion flair

And gender queer persona

Of Ziggy Stardust

From the late 1960s.

As a teenager

In latter half

Of the 1980s.

Never realized

How much of my life

Was influenced

By him.

Exposing society

To the emerging transcommunity

With his androgynous look

Of Ziggy Stardust.

To which

I can never repay him

With these words.

In knowing

Your time

With us

Enriched everyone

Beyond measure.

Merci

For blessing us.


Therisa © 2016

Author's Note: It was 7:30 am, on the local radio newscast, on CBCRadio1 Toronto, I hear the sad news of David Bowie's death, at age, 69, from cancer. At first, I was shocked, upon hearing this, then saddened, as the reality sunk it. I wrote this poem, Monday afternoon, during my subway ride, to the art studio, where I have an art program, to help me, deal with my mental illness and sense of isolation. I waited, until today (January 12, 2016), before edited the above poem, hoping, the time away, would give the emotional perspective needed, to view this poem, for editing.

The two videos, which I have chosen, are: "Let's Dance" and "Modern Love". For I think, David would want us, to celebrate his life, and the best way, to do so, is with music and dance, hence, "Let's Dance". And "Modern Love", I just the entire tune.

The Road Taken (January 8, 2016)

Never thought

I would be

Looking back

In a positive way.

On losing

My apartment

And ending up

In a homeless shelter.

Knowing

I can laugh

About it

Now.

Never realizing

How big

Of a barrier

Moving to Toronto

Would be.

Physically

And psychologically

In my liberation

Of you

Mom.

In beginning

My life

Anew

As a woman.

No longer

Needing to hide

In the darkest gender closet

Filled with fear

Of being discovered.

Will admit

I wasn't prepared

For the culture shock

That greeted me

At the woman's homeless shelter.

Struggling

With chronic anxiety attacks

And depression

In a brutal environment

Like a fish

Out of water.

Especially

Being pre-everything

In regards

To my transitioning.

Beyond knowing

My true name

Therisa.

Taking extra precautions

So no one saw

My ugly male body.

Unless

Fully dressed.

Dreading

Someone would see

Or react

To me

As a male.

Knowing

I wouldn't survive

In a man's homeless shelter

Without being raped

Or brutally beaten up.

Never

Feeling safe.

Until

I had my own apartment

Again.

To further

My self-exploration

Of the feminine side.

Learning

My true self.


Therisa © 2016

Author Note: June 3, 2007, found myself, at the front door, of a woman's homeless shelter, in downtown Toronto, with a suitcase and duffel bag, filled with woman's clothing. Interesting enough, my mom never asked me, if I wanted to move out, to the country, until I got myself, back on my feet, again. A move, in retrospective, would have signed my death warrant, given her negative reaction, to coming out to her, as a trans-lesbian. Being forced to be dependant on her, for transportation for all of my medical appointment.

Forever, My Love (December 31, 2015)

Oh

How I long

To be

In your embrace

My love.

Knowing

My damned soul is

Eternally safe

Within your touch.

Chasing away

Those daemons

Which haunt me

24/7/365.

Making my life

A living Hell

Of the cruelest kind

That knows

No end

But death.

As I lay

In your arms

My last breath taken.

Nevermore

To inhale

Again.

For my name is

Forever more

Etched

Upon your soul.

And

On your lips

Therisa.


Therisa © 2015

Author notes: This is my favourite track, from Nishwish's cd, "Once". And sadly, it's Tarja Turunen, last recording with the band, before she left.  Personally, I think she has the best vocals for the band.

Donald Trump (January 2, 2016)

Bill Day, December 15, 2015

The world is

Unfolding

Around me.

It feels like

I'm watching

An old Movietone Newsreel

From the 1930s. 

Instead of

Being shown

In black and white.

It's broadcasted

In Technicolor

On a cable news network.

As if

The world is

Experiencing

A bizarre case

Of deja vu.

With Las Vegas, Nevada

And Richmond, Virginia

Taking the place

Of Nuremberg, Germany

And Rome, Italy.

Even though

Today's date is

December 15, 2015.

In replacing

Jewish people

With Muslims

As the scapegoat

For America's problems.

As the level

Of vitriol and hatred

Is being spewed

By this crass billionaire.

Playing upon

The nation's xenophobia

And want of isolation.

Believing

That distance

And closed borders

Can protect them

From extremists.

Never realizing

This rhetoric is

Providing recruiting material

For the fanatic

On both sides.

Only thing missing is

The sound of jackboots

Marching down

The streets.

As the people stand

With stiff arm salutes

Chanting:

 

"Sieg Heil".


Therisa © 2016

Author Notes: Sigh. This poem took longer to write, than I care for, but I could find the right headspace needed for it. Especially, given the recent events, in Europe and North America. I do hope, the American voter realizes, the fear that Trump poses to global peace, with political stance. I say this, as a child of an immigrant, who came to Canada, in 1952, as a teenager, barely speaking any English.

Who's That Girl (January 2, 2016)



Few moments ago

I was described

As a "girlie-girl"

By another tenant

In my apartment building.

Yes

It's true.

I love

To take long bathes

With lavender

Or other scented fragrances

In the water.

While

A single candle burn

By the side

Of the tub.

In preferring

The sweet scent

Of Vanilla Black Cherry

Or Blueberry baked goods.

But

It's one

Of many labels

That I have trouble

In accepting

For myself.

Just

As I find myself

Struggling

At time

With these labels:

"Survivor"

"Courageous"

"Strong"

And "difference maker".

To name

A few.

Leaving me

To wonder

Who's this person

People are talking about.

For I see

A woman

Who's struggling

With major physical

And mental health problems.

Maybe

The true answer

Lies

Somewhere

In the middle.


Therisa © 2016

Author Note: On November 15, 2005, is the day, which I came out of the gender closet, as a transwoman (ie transsexual), after several emotional and stressful months, while standing over my dad's gravesite. Since then, I have swung, both ways, from being, a girlie girl, to an androgynous look. Especially, on those days, which my anxiety or depression levels are ballistic, as a result of my PTSD and memories of abuse.

Music (September 3, 2012)

Hear

Your siren's call
Drawing me
Near.

Slowly
Seducing me
With your spell
To the water's
Edge.

Pulling me
Deeper
With each note
Into your web.

Surrendering
My soul
Unconsciously
To your care.

As
My body moves
Hypnotically
To your rhythm.

Only
To awaken
With it's echo
In my soul.


Therisa © 2012






Author Notes: An older piece, written, during the Labour Day long weekend.

Lucky Star (January 2, 2016)

An origami paper star

 

Oh Star

On my blackest night

You shine

Like the brightest light

In the Heavens.

As you lay

Upon my lap

Your black fur

Drenched

With my tears.

Returning

The love and gentleness

I have shared.

Since

Your arrival

Four years ago.

As a rescued kitten

Who had been

Physically abused

And tossed aside.

Even now

You follow me

Around the apartment.

Like a lost soul

Seeking a place

To call

Your home.

Whether or not

You realize it

Star.

You have

Already

A place

To call

Home.

In my heart

Since

That cold November night

In 2011.

Now

Move over

And share my bed

With me.
Therisa © 2016

Photo of Star, as a kitten

To Be Loved (January 2, 2016)

A simple request

Is all

I wanted

From you.

And yet

It turned out

I asking

Too much

From you.

As if

I wanted you

To give me

The world and more

With my wish.

Never realizing

How hollow

Your words are

When spoken

To me.

How naïve

And stupid

I have been

To think

You would change

At all.

Knowing

To continue 

Receiving your love.

Would be

An act of suicide

On my part.

As my soul drowns

In silent tears

And frustration.

Wondering

Shall I

Ever find

This wish

Of mine?

Honestly

I don't know

The answer

To that question.


Therisa © 2016

Author Note: This poem is, how my mom has pushed me, away, since I came out to her, as a trans-lesbian. I had to break off contact with her, because she didn't want to be seen, in public, with me. Also, she fears me, as if, I'm a genetic monster, to her. Never mind, the anxiety attacks, I had to cope with, before and after each visit, with her.

Avenue Of Broken Dreams (December 18, 2015)

It's month end

Again.

As I walk

Down the Danforth

On my monthly pilgrimage

For food money

And transit tokens.

Striding past

A once thriving Mecca

For small independent businesses.

But

No more.

Instead

Dust mice and spiders

Now

Hold their daily courts

In these abandoned shops.

Everywhere

One looks

"For lease" signs

Have sprung up

Like a field of Dandelions

Assaulting ones eyes.

The lucky property owners

Have found

Their "Sugar Daddies"

Or "Sugar Mommas".

In rich developers

Seeking to build

Condo towers

With their gentrification

Dream.

Leaving the community

Bereaved and poorer.

As part

Of its soul

Is left behind

To die.


Therisa © 2015

Author's Notes: I live, in 1 of 13 communities that the city of Toronto and various NGOs have labelled, as "high priority neighbourhood", which translates, into English, as high levels of poverty, with the lack of resources and willpower to change this. Even convenience stores have gone bankrupt, here.

Merry Christmas, Therisa (December 30, 2015)

There are times

I must admit

That I feel like

A complete fraud.

As I struggle

With my mental

And physical health.

Wondering

What others see

In me.

Finding myself

Revisiting

A part of my life.

Best

Left alone

And buried

In the deepest cravat

Possible.

As the memories

Are flooding

Forward

In my mind.

Of those dark years

Where Hell was

A place on Earth

For me.

What

Did I do

To raise his irk?

In such

A manner

He needed

To physically

And psychologically

Attack me?

Other then

Being the eldest.

I know

These "what ifs..."

That blow across

My mindscape

Are a deadly toxin.

Threatening

The years

Of painful healing

I have endured.

And yet

Like a small child

I can't stop picking

At these scabs.

In trying

To cleanse

My diseased body

From this tainted past.


Therisa © 2015

14 Roses (December 6, 2015)

Steady stream

Of bitter and angry tears

Flow down my face.

As Canadians observe

The 26th anniversary

Of the Montreal Massacre

Today.

Where

Marc Lepine

Violently

Ripped off

Our veil of ignorance

And silence.

In his killing

Of female engineering

Students and professors.

Please stop

If you think

This is

An issue

Limited to Quebec.

Given their past

Of deadly assaults

Upon post-secondary institutions.

Rather

It stretches

From the Atlantic

To the Pacific

And Arctic coastlines.

Whether

We identify

Ourselves

As:

Cisgender

Transgender

Heterosexual

Bisexual

Lesbian

Or Queer.

Sadly

For too many

It's part

Of our daily lives

This violence.

Author's notes: for more information, please check out, the following links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89cole_Polytechnique_massacre

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dawson_College_shooting


Therisa © 2015