Requiem For A Lost Child (March 5, 2010) (Updated and revised)

Forty years ago 

A child was born
Into this world.

Perfect
In all ways
With ten fingers
And toes.

No visible signs
Of a birth defect

Except one.

Only known
To the child.

Not a defect

As society understands
But a greater truth.

That burns
With the intensity
Of a white-hot flame.

Removing all doubt
In the child's mind.

She takes small steps

Within the safety
And privacy
Of the bathroom.

Dipping a cautious toe

Into the waters of femininity

Testing the temperature

Before plunging head-first

Into the pool of life.

Filling herself
With the confidence

Only a young child has.

In expressing
Her desire

To be Wonder Woman.

Looking back 

A brave
But
Very risky move

In a small rural Ontario village.

You know
The type of place
Everyone knows
Your name and life history

And cows outnumber people.

Gossip and bad news

Compete against each other

Like two drivers
Spoiling for a race.

Testing their speed
Spreading the news
On the local phone company's

'Party-line'.

Hostile and angry glares

Greet the child
Instead of

Open arms

And warm smiles.

If looks could....

Dimming the flame

From white-hot
To a dull yellow hue.

As the child sought shelter

By burying
This part of themselves

In a hidden corner
Of their soul. 

Still
The flame burns.

Standing
Like a beacon

Lighting the trail
Throughout
The hostile wilderness

Society has become.

Enduring chronic bouts
Of depression
And anxiety.

Shed
Not a tear

For that child is
I.

Now an adult

Walking the path now

So long
Brighten
By the dim flame.

Once more burning

White-hot
Having found herself.

Therisa © 2010

Please Standby, As We Are Experiencing, A Temporary Delay (June 17, 2016)

If home is

Where

Ones heart is.

Then

Mine is

A shattered field

Of glass shards.

Haven't felt like

I belonged

To any place.

Since

I have left

My parents' place

For university

In 1990.

Feeling rootless

Like a tumbleweed

That's blown.

Across
The arid landscape

By a desert wind.

As I made

My nomadic journey

To various eastern

And southern Ontario

Communities.

Searching for

That missing

Something.

On a physical

And psychic level

From my life.

Even now

More than 10 years

Into my journey

Of self-discovery

And healing.

Still

A part of me

Feels missing.

Something vital

In the completion

Of whom

I am.

As I feel it

Rubbing against

My soul

Like a small pebble

In a shoe.

But

Unable to find

And remove

This irritating "pebble".

Leaving me

Stuck

In this moment

Of time.

Therisa © 2016

The Lonely Journey (June 8, 2016)

My life is

Not a fad

Like the latest

Reality TV show

On TLC.

Nor

Is it one

That lacks

Inner strength.

Having enduring

Endless rounds

Of conversion therapy

From society.

Free

Of charge.

Bless

Their little

Transphobic

And homophobic hearts.

As I hid

My true self

Deep

Within.

Until

The dormant seed

That is me

Started to bloom.

Bringing forth

An awareness

Whether or not

I want it.

In learning

To listen to

What my heart

And body

Are telling me.

A healing journey

In which

Numerous painful lessons

Have been forced

To confront.

Upon this path

I walk.

Spreading light

And knowledge

In a valley of darkness

And ignorance.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note:  As a child, growing up, I was exposed, to many violent acts, of a physical, verbal and psychological nature. Targeting me, due to my effeminate nature, as a perceived "boy", by society, that many people viewed me, as homosexual. Well, they were partly right, just the wrong gender.

Just One Step Taken (May 9, 2016)

A time of growth

And change

In questioning

All aspects

Of my life.

Challenging

The pre-conceived notion

What it means

To be me

By others.

Wondering

Have I suppressed

My true sexual nature

As well?

Might

I be

Straight or bisexual

Instead of

A lesbian?

Reality is

Just thinking

Of a man

Penetrating me

Is a horrific thought

That repulses me.

Yet

The thought exists.

However

Brief

It maybe.

Still

I shudder

Just thinking

About it.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: During, this early period, of my transitioning, I was rediscovering long suppressed memories of abuse (after a very traumatic and prolonged panic attack that stripped me, of whatever mental defenses, I had left), I had endured, as a child, on the schoolyard, by various bullies; and at home, by my younger brother and mom. Leaving me, to wonder, what else, have I been suppressing, as well. Must admit, am still uncovering old memories, and the pain hasn't lessened, over the years. Although, I have learned new methods, in facing, these old experiences, like writing, and using clay, as media, to do.

My Alchemy Project (March 4, 2016)

www.history.com

Before me

A lump of virgin clay

Lays.

Unsure

How to express

Those images

That are trapped

Within my mind.

Just like

A blank page

In my writing book

Awaiting

My creative touch.

As my fingers

Move over

Its surface.

Mixing

The various media

Into a solution.

In my symbolic search

For the philosopher's stone

Of expression

And release.

In giving

Physical form

To the words

Of my poems.

Unleashing

My true artistic vision

Beyond

The written word.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Since January 2014, I have been attending an art studio, which offers an artistic program, for people with mental illness, socially isolated, and those, who are recovering from addictions. It's operated, jointly, by a local hospital and a NGO.

Sadly, I completed my first sculpture, and am awaiting, for it, to dry out, before it can be fired for the first time, and painted, before the second and final firing. Mostly, as the result, from my own battle, with anxiety and agoraphobia.