Emotional Blues (August 26, 2018)

Damn it

There are times

Hate being emotional.

Sitting here

Fighting back tears

Streaking my face.

Knew-before HRT

This would happen

Amplified expodently

By mental illness.

Sigh.

Young child

You told me:

“Suck it

Act like a man.”

Honestly

Have tried

Daddy.

Almost killed me

Being your stoic son

Bottling the pain

Deep inside

Hiding suicide attempts.

Twenty years later

Since your death

Still conflicted.

Like you stole

Emotional support

I needed.

Therisa © 2018

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

In the supermarket

I hear you.

A young mother

Threatening
Her three

Or four years old

Son.

Promising him

A reason to cry

If he doesn't stop.

Bringing back

40 year old memories

Of my own experiences

As child.

How boys are
To publically express 

Their emotions.

In being

The strong silent type

When expressing

Sorrow or sadness.

To do otherwise

You're labelled

As a sissy.

Or worse

By society.

Bottling up

The grief.

Leaving it

To eat away 

At you.

Knowing

Had you been born

As female

The rules are

Different.

Therisa © 2017

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

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.