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. 

Joy Of Being Examined (March 11, 2017)

Oh boy

What joy

Not!

In a few years

I get to be prodded

And poked

In the most clinical

Of way.

In the search

For possible cancers.

Uniquely

That only trans-women

Get both.

As my breasts

Are mashed 

And filmed

Like movie stars

They are.

Only thing missing

Frantic fans screaming

For autographs

And selfies.

Hoping

No phone call/letter

Is needed

For more tests.

Never mind

As my doctor's office

Becomes

A one stop

Jiffy Lube location

(I hope).

A latex-free gloved hand

Enters my lubed anus

Like an oil dipstick

Feeling the prostate gland

For any irregularity.

An examination

I so detest

Feeling violated

By it.

Am

So not looking forward 

To my fiftieth birthday

As these presents

Await me. 

Sigh.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: In Ontario, women (breast) and men (prostate gland) are screened, at regular intervals, for signs of possible cancerous growth. Or sooner, if there's a family history of these cancers.

As a teenager, I had several prostate examinations, as it was feared, I might have testicular cancer, on my right teste. During the biopsy, the lump was discovered, as a hydrocele, which the surgeon drain. Had it been a cancerous growth, the first line of treatment would've been, to surgically remove my teste, replacing it, with a plastic prosthetic. 

Ironically, this is covered, by Ontario's taxpayers, while an orchiectomy, is deemed cosmetic surgery, and I must pay for it, myself. For many poor trans-women, we can't afford to fully become ourselves, due to the high cost of the various surgeries, without taking out outrageous bank loans, that will cripple us, financially, for the rest of our lives. 

An Unintentional Path (March 10, 2017)

Must believe me

When I say

That I am

No one special.

Just a hurting soul

Seeking out 

A way to heal

What has been damaged

Over the years.

In using poetry

As one of my therapies

To do so.

Please understand

My experiences

Don't speak

For the entire

Trans-community.

Rather 

An extreme end

Of the spectrum.

Where 

Violence has left

It's indelible mark

In scarring us.

Whether 

It be physical

Emotional 

Psychological

Or sexually.

In daring

To be 

Our true self.

In uniting

Our souls and bodies

As a whole.

Instead of

The fractured 

Puzzle pieces

We are.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Never sought, to become, a spokesperson, for the trans-community, as a whole, with my poetry, to the cis world. Rather, as a means to heal myself, from the repressed memories of abuse, from my childhood, and later on, in my life, as I came out of the closet, as being, a trans-lesbian. 

Chaos (January 28, 2015)

Coming of order
Harmony with the universe
Attitude adjustment
Official motto of life
Satisfaction guaranteed.

Therisa © 2015

Without Peace (Fictional) (December 3, 2014)

A word

Nothing more.

Lingers

In my mind

Of you.

All else

Erased

By Father Time.

No matter

How hard

I try

To see you

In my mind's eye.

One last time.

Robbing me

That last moment

We embraced

Forever.

Never getting

To say

Good-bye.

Therisa © 2014

Author's note: A fictional poem, from my poetic morgue.

By Existing (March 8, 2017)

Statistically

More than 51 %

Of humanity

Is female.

And yet

We're treated

Like we're chattel.

To be bought

And discarded

At a whim.

On Wednesday

March 8th

We celebrate

This year's

International Woman's Day.

As a trans-woman

We're a minority

Of a minority

Within a majority.

Viewed

By some women

As a gender traitor.

Can we help it

If we're born

With a genetic defect

Between our legs.

That society see

Being normal

For a male.

Which 

We are not.

Our mere existence

Is challenging

How society views

What it means

To be female.

Won't lie

There are days

It seems to be

A never ending battle

Exhausting the soul

To its core.

Despite this

More and more

Of us

Are emerging.

Regardless

Of Putin's and Trump's 

Draconian actions

Against us.

Showing true love

And compassion

Towards others

Were hate reigns.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: You think, that this year theme, for International Woman Day, I would have an easy time, writing this poem, but struggled to find the right words, to express myself. As if, I was muzzled, by Putin and Trump, for being a trans-woman, who dares to speak out against the injustices committed, against my community, by these misogynistic dinosaurs, whose days are numbered, like the Pony Express.

Therisa Ascending (March 2, 2017)

From the smothering

Testosterone tainted ashes

I emerge

Once more.

As I brush off

Various remnants 

From my past life

Off my soul.

Knowing

A long road

Awaits me.

In my sojourn

As a woman.

Wiping away

Those bitter tears

Where hate reign

Supreme.

Surprising myself

With how far

I have travelled

In the past decade.

In finding

Courage and strength

To be honest and true

With myself and others.

Knowing

There are others

Who'll oppose

This journey

Of self-discovery

And healing.

On ignorance

Alone.

Pity.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Wednesday, March 2, 2007, marks the last day that I have worked when I quit my job, as the result of transphobic pressure, applied to me, by the company that I worked, for then. Basically, I had to fight, to attend a peer support group, that met twice, every month, except for December, as the group took that month off. Wasn't unusual for one of the company drivers, to make homophobic comments and jokes, as I worked. 

Over the past 10 years, I lost my apartment, lived in a homeless shelter, been on welfare and now, a provincial disability support program, for my chronic depression, anxiety disorders, agoraphobia, and PTSD. I have learned coping strategies, in dealing, with my various mental illness, and seeking closure, to my abusive past that I have suppressed, for most of my life, without realizing it, until my mental barriers collapsed, on August 14, 2007, when I experienced a 26 hour long panic attack, triggered, during a morning rush hour ride, on the TTC subway line 1. Since then, I have tried to avoid any appointments that placed me, on the TTC, during rush hour, whether it be morning or afternoon.

Am sharing this, with you, to show how far, I have travelled, in the past decade, and how much, is still left to be done, before I can rejoin society and earn my way, as a productive member, able to help others, with my experiences and knowledge. 

Willow (June 15, 2012)

Oh

Sister Willow

Your branches

Spread out wide

Like a giant umbrella.

Handling

The stresses of life.

Unlike your brothers

Maple Oak and Elm

Tall stately trees.

Towering

Into the skyline

With majestic

Rigid branches.

This year's heavy snowfall

Crippled many stately crowns

Unable to handle the burden.

While

The ugly sister survives

On tiny slender branches.

But

Beauty is

In the eye

Of the beholder.

Better

To be flexible

Then dead.

From stress

And diseases.

Swaying

Beneath summer's

Hot breath.

Therisa © 2012

Author's note: From my poetic vault. Only changed the arrangement of some stanzas and words, for spelling corrections.

A Need (March 2, 2017)

Why do we fear

Change?

When

It's a natural part

Of life

Around us.

Like the ugliest caterpillar

Who metamorphosis

In the prettiest butterfly.

Spreading beauty

With each flap

Of its wings.

Not like

I'm asking you

To transform

Into something

That you are not.

Rather

Share the journey

Moving forward

As one.

Growing

And loving

The true me

That emerges

From this cocoon.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Not sure, why I wrote this poem but felt the need, to do so. Hence, the title, for the poem.