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When i was younger
I was told
I was one eighth
Scottish
Ive spent
Over fifty years
Trying to discover
The whereabouts
Of this Scottish part of me
And not knowing
Whether, or not
It may of been removed
When i had my
Gender reassignment surgery
Tossed a few cabers
Enjoyed some haggis
Worn a few kilts
(Don't like whisky)
Taken a few, high, and low roads
Semi resillient to cold weather
Hair is red (copper dyed)
And love unicorns
Can't remember which clan
But it was a dark green tartan
And lastly
Possess a certificate
That declared
That i was
A Scottish Laird!
(ps: I'm now a Lady of the Lakes! got a certificate for that too!)

by Jemia
Now that me
And Myfanwy
Are born again virgins
I was thinking
Of career choices
Perhaps as a nun
Do they have pronouns
Or pronuns?
But i wondered perhaps
I should reconsider
As likely to lead
To bad habits
So decided
I'm having nun of it
Is a female shaman
A shawoman?
But that sounds similar
To a char woman
And i'm not much use
At housework
Although i do love
A nice cup of char
Tea anyone?

by Jemia
Tomorrow
I shall time travel
Into the future
For about six months
But i wont be alone
As everyone around me
Will join me
In this temporary twilight zone
I hope i remember
To wear different socks
As we all add one hour
To our various clocks
This Summertime
The living, is unlikely to be easy
Tick tock

by Jemia
Last night, i dreamt
That i found
A three dimensional
Jigsaw puzzle
Of myself
When i tried to pick it up
It started to fall apart
Toes, fingers
Arms, legs
Hands, and feet
Finally
There was just my head
It looked to fragile to touch
And was concerned
That i may lose my mind
And my whole life
Would fall apart
And when i attempted to pick up
The smaller pieces
They fell like quicksand
Through my hands
I eventually tried
To lift up my head
But that too
Fell completely apart
As my thoughts began to dissipate
Into the ether
And felt
I would lose my mind
Only my heart remained intact
But at least
That had previously been patched together
Although
It still felt broken

by Jemia
A fading daffodil
With a hung-dog look
Like the pages
Of a dog-eared book
Dear beautiful daffodil
I still love you
You may age, and die
But your essence,
And presence
Will lie
Within my heart
Forever

by Jemia
I did the ***, drugs, and rock and roll thing
But it didn't actually, teach me anything
Back then, there was no internet to investigate
No books in libraries, about my kind of state
So i adopted, the then hippie style fashion
To avoid any kind, of trans bashing
It allowed me, to grow my hair long
So i was more in tune, with my kind of song
With an afghan coat, and cheesecloth shirt
Petula oil, hippy beads, but never a skirt
At the age of fifteen, i left my home
After fourteen schools, i was destined to roam
So off i ventured, into the big wide world
Waiting to see, how my life would be unfurled
After much wandering, and travelling around
Aged 27, i momentarily landed, on a different ground
I got married, then within a year, divorced
My life was still veering, way of course
Yet within five years, to subdue my fears
I met my second wife, together for 23 years
Yet still i had a secret, which i kept at bay
That i knew i was a woman, in almost every way
I knew things were ending, and life felt weird
When my wife, got me to cut my hair, and to grow a beard
I understood why, she just wanted to man me up
As i supped in the misery, like a dying buttercup
Me, and my daughter, then moved down here
Much stress was happening, i couldn't allay my fears
After two years, my daughter to her mother went back
Then returned two years later, in time for my heart attack
During those four years in total, much had occurred
Finding my mother dead, made redundant, it became absurd
I'd already seen my GP, to talk about my gender
And had gone to London several times, to put in my tender
But because of my heart, my GRS was put on hold
And thought back then, it was unlikely i'd achieve my goal
Yet 22 months, and two heart surgeries later
I was as ready, as a toothless alligator
On the 30th May 2019, i had my gender reassignment surgery
I cannot lie, it was painful, screamingly at first, no purgery
I told friends, it was done in Wimbledon, as i had some doubt
That i'd return as a Womble, or a tennis player with gout?
But all had gone as expected, and i recovered well
My butterfly wings had grown, as i flew out of my secret hell
Never imagining, that just three years on
Telling people a brief history of my life, what could possibly go wrong?
I have many friends, that are lgbtq+, without debate
But many of my friends are also straight
All my change, was thanks to the NHS
I had told them my truths, without any redress
So my message to anyone, whatever their age
Don't rush into this, do it stage by stage
Whatever you do, be you bold, or shy
You will gain you wings and be a beautiful butterfly
Find a good GP, that is helpful, and kind
That doesn't treat you, like you're out of your mind
That the whole process, from beginning to end
Is worth it, as you become your own best friend

by Jemia
I wonder if butterflies
Are so inebriated
By their pollen consumption
That they can never fly
In a straight line
I also wonder
What sort of poetry
They'd write
Or would they be
To drunk
To hold a quill?
Although
None of this
Seems to interfere
With their mating habits

by Jemia
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