Looks Are Deceiving (April 4, 2018)

With each deleted letter

She typed

On the computer

Her ire does grows

As the bitter flow

Of self-anger

And hatred course

Through her soul

Like a corrosive acid.

Destroying

Whatever self-confidence

And self-esteem

With each recalled

Memory.

Relentlessly teased

And ridiculed

On her writing skills

And spelling ability

By teachers and students.

Labelling her

Slow and lazy

At her incomplete answers

To her assign

Written core work.

And yet

If they asked

The same question

Verbally.

She dazzled them

With her detailed response

To the questions

Before her.

A faint ghost

Of a smile

Graced her face.

In recalling

One particular conversation

With a high school teacher

Regarding her planned

University study.

Questioning her ability

To understand and process

An entirely new language

And grammar system.

The teacher’s words

Waved before her

Like a matador’s cape

Inciting the hurt bull

As it charges forward.

Refusing to believe

Or to listen

To the words

That have boxed her

Inside a protective

But restrictive bubble.

Ironically

The truth is

It was English

And not Russian

That tripped her up.

As she struggled

With the essay

Driven courses.

Earning her dad’s

Undivided pride

And love.

In accepting

From the university president

Her B.A. degree.

Therisa © 2018

Author’s note: For the record, I have been moved in and out of special education classes, starting in the fall of 1975, when I started kindergarten, in a rural southern Ontario village. Until the end of my university classes, in August 1994, when I wrote my last exam to gain my BA, from Carleton University. During the school year of 1983-84, I was officially diagnosed, as having multiple learning disabilities, which affected all aspects of my life. The irony here, is the school officials told my parents, not to share the content of the education assessment with me.

Afraid, I would use it as a justification to slack off, in my studies. Never realizing, the validation that the report gave me, in regards to the earlier report cards and experiences, which scarred me. I wasn’t a lazy student, but one that the school system was failing to meet my educational needs.

If you asked me, what does a typical person with learning disability looks like, I would have to give you, a blank look. As there is no one look physically to describe a person with a learning disability.

For more information about learning disability, please click on the following link: https://ldaamerica.org/types-of-learning-disabilities/

Early morning Thoughts (August 24, 2012)

Am feeling

History's long fingers

Waking my tired soul.

Another night passes

In the wee hours

Of the coming morn.

Where normal people

Are deep

In their REM sleep.

Except me.

It's 3 am

Sitting on my bed

Pouring my soul

Across the digital divide.

Wanting to turn

The impossible

Into the possible.

Where everything isn't

An unstable liquid

Malleable

To the touch.

Fueled by

An overactive

And creative mind.

In leaving

These dark memories

In the past.

Not surfacing

In panic attacks

Or prolonged bouts

Of depression.

Am so tired

Having to take

A regimen of pills

To be "normal".

Achieving

Short term success.

If

At all.

Therisa © 2012

Author's note: Another poem from my poetic morgue. I wrote this, during a time of severe side effects from one of my numerous anti-depressants that I have taken, over the years. 

Place Of Lost Hopes (June 24, 2017)

A place

Of last resorts.

Where dreams die

A horrible death

Under the harsh light

Of reality.

As the weaker sheep

Are eaten

By the stronger sharks.

People

That society  

Has tossed away

And forgotten about.

Written off

As losers addicts

And mentally ill.

Where cigarettes are

The walking fold

One measures wealth

On the street.

Dealers hustle

Offering 'food'

To whomever 

Wants it.

As part 

Of the 'Jenny Crack'

Diet plan.

The unpardonable sin:

Showing up early

By 3 minutes

Before the shelter opens

For the afternoon.

By the condo residents

Who live

Across the street

And several floors

Up.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: How spending a month, in a homeless shelter felt to me (June 3 to July 3, 2007).

Chance Encounter (March 13, 2017)

July 21, 2006.

A date

Forever etched

Into my memory.

As if

Done by

A laser.

By mistake

And pure chance.

I enter

The support group meeting 

For trans-men

At the 519*.

A decision

That forever

Changed my life.

As George Harold

And Alex** 

Accepted me

Into their meeting.

Won't bore you

With details

Of what 

Was spoken.

Except

My soul was

Laid bare

Before them.

As tears
Of anger

And shame 

Flowed down my face

Like the Mississippi River

During flood season.

Releasing

The septic toxins

From my mom's

Caustic rejection of me.

For the first time

I shared this

To total strangers

With frank openness.

As I found myself

Neither judged

Nor pitied.

But

Accepted

As a person

Of value. 

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Without the help of these three men, I wouldn't be here, today, to share my experiences of that fateful night. I entered their meeting, as a stranger and left, as friends, whose kindness was the first step, I took, in the healing of myself and uniting it, with my body, which had been detached, from birth.

For I stood, on the brink, of another suicide attempt, for that month, making it, my 3rd and possibly, the final attempt, to take my life. And yes, I do have, a very long history, for this.

*The 519, is the name of the community centre, in the local area, and for the LGBT+ community, in Toronto, which offers programs that serve Toronto and surrounding communities, in the Greater Toronto Area. It's located at 519 Church Street, in the heart of Toronto's Gay Village. Hence, the name.

The trans-men meet every 1st and 3rd Friday of every month, and trans-women meet every 2nd and 4th Friday, except for December, when the meetings are suspended for the holidays. A Christmas dinner is held, that invites all members of the trans community and their allies, to attend.

**Not their real names, as I value their rights to privacy, so am using an alias, for them.

First Step Forward (March 12, 2017)

"Do you want

To be cured?"

Shocking me

With the normalcy 

In your tone of voice

By asking this.

As if

These clinics existed

To "cure" me

Of this disease

I have.

Like those

For alcoholics

And substance abusers.

Know

I answered back:

"Yes."

The question

Was asked

In total ignorance.

Then saying

In your next breath:

"You'll have

To pay for it

With your own money.

"I can't afford it

On a pension."

As if

I expected anything

From you.

Beyond grief

And open resistance

At my decision

To live my life.

As a woman.

Forever 

Closing my life

As your eldest son.

Regardless

What you think

Or want of me.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: The above conversation is part of a larger one, that happened on July 2, 2006, after my accidental "outing" of myself, to my mom, on Canada Day 2006 (July 1st). The first step. in declaring my independence, from her toxic influence, over me.

Have chosen Nightwish's "White Night Fantasy", to accompany this poem, because I love the song. 

Transphobia (February 27, 2017)

I stand

Before you

At the crossroads

Of our friendship.

Scared

Shitless

How you'll react

To my true self.

Knowing

Past attempts

At being open

Like this.

Have spiraled downwards

Into a dark 

And suicidal depression

At being rejected.

Of your strong

Conservative religious

Beliefs.

That place

Lesbian relationships

As a mortal sin

To my soul.

Never mind

My crossing

Of the gender divide

As well.

Knowing

You could

So easily hurt me

With your anger.

Both emotionally

And physically.

And yet

Refuse

To let my fears

Control my life

Like some drone

On autopilot.

Been there

Done that

Got the t-shirt

To prove it.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Wish I could say, that I had a positive experience, in opening up and sharing myself,
but this person's beliefs proved to be too strong, to overcome their religious fears, about me.
As they grew more distanced from me, over time, until I broke off, our friendship.

Tainted Love (February 13, 2017)

Change.

The one word

Most people dread

Like the plague.

And yet

Our daily life

Revolves

Around this.

A fact

That I learnt

The hard way.

Accidentally

"Outing" myself

To my mom.

On a holiday 

Long weekend

Surprise visit.

As if

My exploration

Of gender

And sexuality. 

Is a face slap 

To her raising me

As a child.

Never mind

For more years

Than I care

To remember.

I lived my life

Her way.

Filled with

Chronic depression

And multiple suicide

Attempts.

Courting Death

At any cost

To ease

My soul deep pain.

Upon her rejection

Of me

As her trans-lesbian

Daughter.

As I ran away

My eyed filled

With bitter tears

To Toronto.

After losing 

My apartment

In Brampton.

(A commuting suburb

Of Toronto).

(Knowing

Unconscientiously)

To move in

With her

Would be signing

My death certificate.

Wondering

Where her words

A lie?

To justify

Her abusive

Manipulative behaviour.

When she says

I love you

T------.

My birth name.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Had thought, of using the video for Soft Cell's Tainted Love, or looking for The Supreme's Where Did Our Love GO?, but realized, both songs deal with love and relationships, from a CIS point of view, for the straight and gay communities.

My mom has trouble, writing out or saying my name, Therisa, as if, it was a toxic poison. Often, in cards or conversations, she will behave, like I have never shared with her, my need to live my life, as a woman.

Life Goes On (September 12, 2016)

"The hardest years, the darkest years, the roarin' years, the fallen years 
These should not be forgotten years 
The hardest years, the wildest years, the desperate and divided years 
We will remember, these should not be forgotten years"

Forgotten Years by Midnight Oil (!990)

Have never thought

Of myself

As being brave

Or courageous

Like others

Have told me.

Rather

Someone

Who is struggling

To understand themselves

And how society see

Them.

Have spent

Most of my life

In hiding.

Running

From a violent past

On various fronts

In my life.

Many ways

I feel like

That 7 year old child

Who fled home

On her bike.

Crying

As the village boys

Threatened her

With shunning

And violence.

In wanting 

To be

Wonder Woman.

While 

Playing super heroes.

Only

To reemerge

Twenty-eight years later

As an adult.

Forced

To fight

A brutal war

On several levels

For my very survival

Over the past 11+ years.

As a person

With true value

And meaning.

Where

Every milestone is

A victory

Over the darkness

In my life.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Today (Monday, September 12, 2016), I read about the early death of Alexis Arquette, who died, from complication from AIDS. One of the many daemons that plague my community, like mental illness and self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. May we all find true enlightenment and knowledge, for having people, like Alexis, in our lives. Thank you Alexis.