Love the greatest teacher,
she teaches us to understand ourselves, 
to reveal that love is not an outer thing, 
it’s deep within.

Before we can receive, we give,
and giving find the jewel of human worth, 
we have this trait from birth
like many things,
quelled by the laws of adults in their ignorance.

Born with the bond that ties all spirits close,
and when it manifests its magical sensation,
goaded by our state of mind,
we revel in its complete attention, 
to details sensitive and full of joy.

Her soft caresses touch our quick, 
her ties established hard to break,
her empathy with all that lives and breathes,
she is our welfare, our religion, our raison d'être.    

Margaret Ann Waddicor 29th November 2013.

I have no one to kiss at midnight for New Year's. Instead of complaining about it I can't help but imagine how fantastic it will be when I am able to kiss my future soulmate every year at midnight for the rest of my life and in that moment I will be so glad I waited to save my next kiss for someone who truly loves and appreciates me for who I really am

Bottom line, depression is a cruel mistress. I know this for a fact. In the worst part of my depression, I didn’t just suffer internally, but externally, too. As in, my personal hygiene went downhill. I hid certain parts of it pretty well. Greasy hair can be hidden with a hat, unbrushed teeth with minty gum, three days of the same Tee shirt with a sweatshirt. What couldn’t be hidden, though, was the state of my room. I could have easily cleaned up the various messes. But, I didn’t. Probably in a wain attempt to get my mother to realize that I wasn’t okay. She didn’t, though, and I was just left with the mess.

one. love
love?
i used to know what that meant
or at least i thought i did
i assumed it was what i felt
when i looked down at my little sister
sleeping next to me
so peaceful
none of the fearful yelling
that i needed to come and pick our
mother up off the floor
when all i wanted to do
was leave her lying there

two. safety
no
that is a filthy lie
one that i told myself many times
because i needed to be there for
my sister
protect her
look out for her
shhh
keep quiet
don’t let her know how much
mother scares me
how much i want to die
i feigned safety for the
sake of my sister

three. whole
foreign
concept to me
too young to understand that
the empty pit in my stomach
wasn’t from hunger
though i felt plenty of that
but it was from where the love
of a mother should have been
so no
i have never felt whole
i am hollow
the wind whistles through me
and that is the only sound i make

four. empty
familiar
i was comfortable with this one
no longer surprised by
the lack of food in our cupboards
and fridge
though the presence of all those
**** liquor bottles were an
ever-constant presence
at least mother dear was consistent

five. acceptance
please
don’t make me laugh
i only know what this word
means because google told me
heard it whispered on the
stinking ***** breath of
family that were not my own
but oh how i wanted to stay with them
i needed a place where i felt
that i belonged
that i was wanted
even if i was a jagged edge
to their smooth togetherness

six. abuse
nightmares
are not the only aftershock
of this
the taking of a childhood too soon
i have the scars
albeit self-inflicted
and the bruises
that are left deep in my psyche
and even now
being a young man
and bigger than her
i am still too afraid to fight back

seven. broken
jagged
glass embedded in my feet
and the palms of my hands
throwing away every sugar-coated lie
that she ever told me
that she loved me
she would always love me
no matter what
and then i grew up
well
at least my body did
my hands and fingers got bigger
shoulders wider
legs longer
but my heart
my poor heart
just shrivelled up
inside of me

eight. loss
*******
you act like i took your
daughter away
but no
she was never there to begin with
a gender forced upon me
that i didn’t even know the meaning of
and all because of my
******* genitals
all because i have a womb
instead of being able to *** standing up
and that is all anybody sees
my outside
my *******
my ******
but i am more than my body
i am so much more
i have to be more
i have to be
right?

Dear Sarla
people look at me
and all they see is you
I hate that
and it makes me hate myself
you make me want to die
and hell if my pain tolerance
were higher I swear that I
would cut them off myself
because all they see is my
outsides and my double D *******
and even if I carved the word
boy in all caps
into the soft plush of my ******
a little lump that is always too small
to be seen as an ***** *****
they would still only see the
******* shoved away in the back
of my dresser drawer
cuddled up next to my sports bras
that does nothing to hide my *******
and I have been living inside you
for ten long years
my ***** are ready to drop
I even started shaving the little
peach fuzz stache your father shamed
you into bleaching
I let my leg hair grow out
and willed the chest hair to grow
around my navel and then into
the fleshy V
that my hips create
all of my body hair grows freely now
to keep me warm
but mainly to spite you
and ****** what they see
when they look at me
eyes coming up from my crotch
to my chest
is the shadow of a girl
they see a beautiful blossoming
young woman
and yeah okay
I can see that too
you would have been beautiful
but I cut and snuffed out
your life in the middle of the
prime of your youth
I killed you
and have been in the hospital
three times because of this
because of you
and when my first hospital doctor
told me that my coming out was
just a diversion tactic
it felt like the week old cuts
on my wrist
opened up and all of you that
was left inside of me
bled out at his fancy shoed feet
you were pepto-bismol pink
and my empty husk filled up
with the blues of a thousand
unshed tears
I was a raging ocean of boy
my waves crashed onto your body
until you were drowned in it
and then you were gone
but when people look at me
all they see is you
and my blood is blue on the inside
but when they cut me open
they didn’t see the blues
they saw my ******
and my tubes
and the folds of my womanhood
hell yeah though
they still saw my fat
fat thighs
fat stomach
fat arms
fat fat fat
they still see my scars
and my crooked glasses
and my *******
people still ask if I have
a ****
as if my genitals are any of
their ******* business
and probably if I did
get surgery
my cosmetic scars would still
label me as a freak
I still wouldn’t be enough of a
man for them
my ***** would never be big enough
no man or woman would ever be
able to love me with the lights on
because hell
I’m still not able to pleasure myself
your body is a landscape
albeit a barren one
filled with mines
and I am too clumsy to
traverse it
your ******* only become ***** from
the cold and the only wetness in
your boxers is blood
and I am afraid to look at you
in the mirror
because even I can’t will something
to grow that wasn’t programmed
from the start
and even the friends that never
even knew you
they hold you over me
I’m not a boy because I haven’t
had The Surgery yet
what bathroom do I use
I don’t count as a boy because
of my huge ****
I can’t be a boy because
I like pink shorts
and the only things that have
change are my name
and my hair
I am a *****
a girly boy
but ****
I’m enough of a man for myself
I will never be a mother
and I will only let them ****
me like a man
the swaying of my *******
as I bend over a constant
reminder that I am wrong
but the only boyfriend
I’ve had since sixth grade
only asked me out because
he had a crush on you
I have to tell people that I am
a boy and remind them of the pronouns
that I use
over and over again
but technically I’m still a girl
well technically *******
honestly though Sarla
I wish people would be able to
see through to me
because when my light does
distinguish I don’t want to
be buried in a dress
don’t want my mother to cry
over her little girl
I think my sister would cry
for me though
she calls me her older brother
and once called my ****** a peen
she has come around
with flying colors
and she really gets it
I know that when it seems
like the world is against me
I will always have her
she sees through you
to me Priestly underneath
and Sarla
as long as I have her
I know I’ll be okay
it makes the wait for people
to come around a lot easier
I love my sister so
and someday you really will be gone
***** and period and all
I’m going to have a proper burial
for you when I get home
but until then
I’ll take good care of your body
and I know you’ll be watching over us
Love Priestly

Your body, your mind, heart and soul,
All combined, set a goal
To start today; no better time
If you really want this
You need to strive. Work for your goals,
Work as hard as you can
Staying focused, you need a plan

You're pushed to your limits;
That's what you think. You can reach it,
You just need to believe.
Believe in yourself, have some faith,
I know it's not easy
Make no mistake, comes from within
This new strength you shall find,
Conquer your goals, body and mind.



© Karen L Hamilton, 2013

the day in the park when you told me you loved me i noticed things that i never noticed before. your hair looked darker than usual and i ran my fingers through it almost absent-mindedly, a quick action that happened before i could process it. my fingertips came back wet.
saturday morning and clearly straight from the shower you smelt of deodorant, that lovely boy smell, of something fresh and clean but with the hint of sweat already from the walk over here which made me wonder why you ever even bothered with showers, when i liked the ***** sweatiness of your skin more than anything.
spring was sprung, flowers everywhere, the council gardeners pruning and weeding every afternoon when i wandered this way after school, but blissfully absent this morning, you and i lone lovers on a lark.
i noticed the dandelions were swaying, how picturesque, us in that strange place between friends and more, and the grass wet and dewy beneath our feet, rose bushes lining the path. but we strayed from that path, we did. you stole my hand and we started running, you raucous and wild, a lion inside a boy, and me, following and cautious but laughing.
there was this lovely weeping willow, the branches dangling gorgeous leaves, sweeping the ground, a curtain of green which you parted and brushed aside like the way you sometimes brush my hair from my face. under that weeping willow things happened.
“i can’t deny it,” you said. you said, as you touched my hair and my face and no other part of me, so intimate and courageous with my heart beating faster than any other saturday morning. “i can’t deny the fact that i love you,” and you were pushing me back as you stepped forward, little nudges in the hip and the shoulder and then maybe just hard enough to leave a bruise you pushed me against the trunk of the tree. as steady as i was weak.
i checked later, at home, safe in my bedroom with the curtains closed, in the almost dark i pulled off my shirt and checked, and yes you did, you did leave a bruise, but it was not as painful nor as potent as when you finally finally finally kissed me, your lips air as i was drowning, against that weeping willow with your hands finally finally finally on my waist and stomach and *******, and the fire you started in my heart as stupid as it sounds that has not and will not burn out, the pain of having to leave you at my doorstep and waiting until the next time you could relinquish my need, and now after we’re broken up the pain of not knowing if i’ll ever feel those lips again.
the bruises on my skin do not even begin to rival the internal bruising of that first kiss.