Beyond The Surface (January 2, 2019)

Do we ever know

If this face before us

Is the reflective image

Staring back?

So many years

Obsessively vision driven

Blinded by this quest

Fitting society’s rigid

Gender definition.

How one dress

And present themself

To the wider world

Expressing gender.

Where one's individuality

And nonconformity

Only grudgingly accepted

Within narrow parameters

That doesn't cause ambiguity.

As if

Dissension is

Mortally wrong

To voice.

Of a worldview

Limited to black and white

Never to grays.

For this

Public shaming/shunning

Are the awards

Handed out.

Often done

Without realizing

The destructive damage

Their impact has.

Therisa © 2019

Author’s note: I had written the first 3 stanzas of this poem, when I came across this op-ed
piece, in The Guardian for January 2, 2019:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/jan/02/what-does-it-mean-to-be-a-woman-it-is-not-just-about-femininity?CMP=share_btn_link

Personally, I can relate to what Allison Gallagher is writing about, as I had a similar
discussion with a former tenant of my apartment building, Lori (butch lesbian), who
has since died.

Sigh.

The Unlit Candle (June 21, 2018)

With every whispered word

My soul grows

In a spotlight of hope

That's shines upon me

Reflecting an inner truth

Bigger than any of us.

And yet

I grope around

As if

I'm totally blind

Unable to see

The world before me.

Where shadows are

Half formed dream visions

Of what might be

As I close my eyes

Seeing for the very first time

My real self.

Like a baby

Learning to walk

My outstretched hand

Reaches for the unknown

Never sure

If I will fall.

My legs want to run

Before I can walk

Carrying me

To distance shores

And lands

Within myself.

In seeking

An inner light

Where truth and peace

Shine like an inner beacon

Guiding my passage

Through life.

Therisa © 2018

Author’s note: Another poem, for this year’s Pride Poetry.

The Reversal of Dorian Grey (September 18, 2017)

We're told

That gray hair is

A symbol of wisdom.

And yet

Why do we make

These same mistakes

Over and over

Again?

Like we're trapped

In an endless loop

That only ends

When the power

Is disrupted.

Is it vainglory

Or a sign

Of our hubris

That we try to hide

Our aging shell?

Viewing it

As a sign of weakness

To be despised

And hated

For our impending

Mortality.

Coating our locks

In a colourful sea 

Of natural

And artificial dyes

Like it never happened.

In a flawed attempt

To deceive ourselves

That the biological clock

Will stop for us.

Regardless

Of one's wealth

Social status

Or income level.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Over the past 6 weeks, I have notice more and more gray strands in my hair, whenever I look into the mirror. I realize having spent almost 5 decades on this plane of existence, this would eventually happen to me, but thought it might be delayed for another year or two. Why I may not like this, I won't be lining up at the local salon or drugstore, to purchase this false sense of youth, in dying my hair to an unnatural shade. Having already tried this, earlier in my life. While I liked the look, it didn't last long, as my hair rejected the dye. So no blue hair rinse for me. 

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.

Flight Of The Butterfly Soul (May 8, 2015)

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Gx1r9oyeZd0/TS-6URWa64I/AAAAAAAABXY/buD3Fm0Ng_Q/s1600/Surrealism%2B-Anastasiya_Markovich_Effect_of_Butterfly.jpg

Soft sigh

Escapes my lips.

As I struggle

To explain myself

About the butterfly

Who graces

My true inner soul.

Flying freely

In the late spring sky

On a warm May afternoon.

Knowing

Your skeptical look

Upon hearing

My soul's story.

How I emerged

From my male cocoon

With her.

Tattooed

Upon my entire back.

Freeing me

From my inner darkness

With each stroke

Of her gossamer wings.

As I complete

My metaphoric journey

Into womanhood

And self-acceptance.

Therisa © 2015

Author notes: Written for a contest, on a writing site, that I, no longer use.

Eulogy For A Soul Regain (June 2, 2016)

Death

From living

A lie.

At 35 years

8 months

And 13 days

On November 15th.

For one

T------ A----- G-------.

Upon marking

The seventh anniversary

Of his father's death

In November 1998

Over his grave.

Selflessly

He placed

The need of others

Before his own.

Battling undiagnosed

Mental illness

For most of his life.

In spite of

His silent tears

Kept those

Around him

Smiling.

Overcoming

Various learning disabilities

Turned his doubters

Into believers.

With his B.A.

From Carleton University

In 1994.

Filling his dad

With unexpressed

Pride.

Please

I ask you.

"Wipe away

Those tears

From your eyes

And rejoice."

From this death

Comes forth

A new life.

With love

And renewed hope

For the future.

Where

None existed

Before.

For I am standing

Before you

Like the Phoenix

Who has risen

From death's ashes.

Spreading my wings

Wide and far

As I soar

On life's thermals.

Therisa © 2016


Author's note: It was November 15, 2005, when I realized my true self, as I stood over, my dad's grave, crying uncontrollably, for 5 minutes. This day will forever, be edged, in my memory, for the unusually very mild weather, we're experiencing that November. On this particular day, it was a mild mist that cover the greater Toronto area, instead of, the usually bitter cold blowing winds, and temperatures, just hovering about 0 C.


In August 1977, I hid away Therisa, to protect her, for the transphobic and general abuse, I was experiencing, as a part of my daily life, living in, a small rural Ontario village. For the next 28 years, she remain thus, until this fateful day, in 2005.

This Is Me (February 2, 2016)

www.quotesgram.com

Identity

noun, plural identities.

1. the state or fact of remaining the same one or ones, as under varying aspects or conditions:

The identity of the fingerprints on the gun with those on file provided evidence that he was the killer.

2. the condition of being oneself or itself, and not another:

He began to doubt his own identity.

3. condition or character as to who a person or what a thing is; the qualities, beliefs, etc., that distinguish or identify a person or thing:

a case of mistaken identity; a male gender identity; immigrants with strong ethnic identities.

4. the state or fact of being the same one as described.

5. the sense of self, providing sameness and continuity in personality over time and sometimes disturbed in mental illnesses, as schizophrenia.

6. exact likeness in nature or qualities:

an identity of interests.

7. an instance or point of sameness or likeness:

to mistake resemblances for identities.

source: www.dictionary.com

November 15, 2016

Will mark

My 11th anniversary

Of my acceptance

For whom

I am.

Having spent

Over 28 years

In hiding.

Filled with shame

Fear and self-loathing

Since August 1977.

(As my family live

In a small rural

Ontario village

At the time.)

A vain attempt

To protect myself

From the other kids

Who sought

To attack me.

Both verbally

And physically.

Turning

Their negative energy

Inwards

In a corrosive manner.

Where

Life has no meaning

Beyond death

And release.

Until

One day

In early 2005

I stopped suppressing

Myself.

Letting out

This timid child

Into the light.

Offering her

A chance to grow

And heal.

In realizing

After a few months

Of cross dressing

This wasn't me.

I need more

In my life.

To fill

This huge hole

In my soul.

Standing over

My dad's grave

On November 15, 2005.

I found myself

Able to release

This 10 tonne elephant

From my shoulders.

As tears of relief

Streaked my face

In  the late morning mist

On an unusually mild

Mid-November day.

As I shared

With my dad's ashes

My true self.

By taking 

The first steps

In my journey

Of real healing

As a woman.

With small steps

Towards the ending

Of my abusive

And destructive past.

In the rebirth

Of myself

As Therisa.

Regardless

What others think

Whom I am.

I'm

A

Woman.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The hardest journey, one will ever undertake, is to look deeply, into ones soul and make the necessary changes, for true healing to occur. Even if, this means, you must go against the flow that Society views, as normal. Knowing, you'll face fierce opposition, based upon, fear fuelled ignorance around anything that's different.

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.

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.