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Patrick Austin Oct 2018
A lifetime ago, I was younger like you,
before my dreams faded and life was still new.
I wish I knew then, all that I know now,
I wanted our life but didn’t know how.
I settled for less and tried the right things,
and cashed in my soul for all that it brings.
I’ve made my mistakes, like others before,
forgiveness more fleeting, ‘til you closed the door.
Waiting for answers, I went into shock,
you left me no choice but to turn back the clock.
I walk this new path while finding myself,
forgetting our past is best for my health.
As I move along, a decade removed,
my body more fit now to go with my mood.
I realize by now we could have had more,
alone I will see what life has in store.
I so miss the comfort of you every night,
kindness from others, brings love at first sight.
Each new encounter, just gives me a shove,
reminding myself not to fall back in love.
When, where and who will be the right one?
I’ve so much to give, just let it be done.
I may never take them, to become my wife,
but I need embraces to sustain my life.
Addiction exists with drugs and affection,
I’m itching for love at each intersection.
How long must I wait to rip out the sutures?
Pleasure Delayer, indefinite future.
This poem is about my feelings of transition from one place to another. I lost my career which pushed my wife to leave me. I have few answers but this poem can be applied to both difficult situations. I feel more than I should and still can't trust my emotions when entertaining relationships.
He woke this morning
Another night of her dreams

He glanced into the mirror
She’s not real it seems

Society unknowingly accepts
The image presented
Unaware of the damage
Being self-inflicted

He hides her for fear of rejection
She battles for her reflection.
______

Michelle Renee Milford
Nov. 2014
I was blessed to have this poem chosen by T.E.N.T. (Transgender Education Network Texas) for the Austin, Texas 2014 Transgender Day of Remembrance ceremony at City Hall. :) :) :)
Proving myself worthy,
has been futile.
You still see me as flawed,
I am real

My love is honest,
not just a word.
Not just an emotion,
Love is real

New safety nets are up,
fear of more rejection.
Time to part ways,
Loneliness is real.

Time is short,
so many distractions.
Struggle to stay focused,
Pain is real.

What drives me to keep living?
How long will it save me?
I want to keep loving you,
Be loved by you.
Real
March 23, 2015
This isn't him,
This can't be the face he's left here,
This isn't the face he's used to seeing,
Solidified in the mirror.
It can't be the current one,
Or even close,
It's not at all how he recalls from the ponds he's known.
Not the one admired,
On crystal clear days,
Or the one sang with,
Through some humming nights.
Maybe his memory is just fogged up,
Maybe this reflection is just blurry from the showers,
They'd have burned others skin.
Still this can't be the face.
Not with the potholes for eyes,
Waning moons for lips,
And cliches for brains.
Or maybe things,
Maybe they do just change,
Maybe sometimes somethings sink in the earthquakes,
And are never swam in again.
Maybe sometimes there's no hope for reversal, redemption,
Or some rectifying light to right what's left,
Only hope in surviving the new.
I guess that's all there ever was.
If only he had it sooner,
He would have thrived in the old world,
Found melodies in the days and more mirror-less memories for the nights.
Only then could things be better off,
Different.
older poem, don't turn on your front camera or introspection may occur.
Gabriel burnS May 2018
I hadn’t spoken for so long
a tiny spider had moved in
at the corner of my mouth
eating my words

my tongue laying limp like a
slain dragon at the bottom of the cave
like a king who passed away right there
on his throne having given the last order

my arms almost as still as uncontested borders
only palms carry out maneuvers
and fingers patrol the manifestation of expressions
commanded by thought fibers
like puppet soldiers

and the lines in the sand are words
born of themselves
telltale heartstrings stalking now the realm
just outside the eye orbit
Kyle Summer Aug 2018
Four feet, impeding on the sun,
yet only two of them are mine.

Time is rugged against the grain
of questions falling on white sand.
How come no one consciously believes in
anything except fractured light and filtered water?
He walks on broken heels and birttle bones,
but somehow always steps in time.

My only memory of Jesus
is in the aftermath of a forest fire.
We danced throughout destruction,
and her hollow laughter brought the rain.
She was the beginning of the rapture,
sometimes I think of her and pray.

I got lost six years ago,
on the way to change my name.
I wonder, how could I go missing
if I never locked the door?
Did anything really happen,
or does nothing ever change?

Four feet, impeding on the sun,
yet none of them are mine.
Andrew Jul 2017
My transcendent transition
Brought by my ****** ambition
Became my personal religion
When I gained a monk's chastity
All my pleas just came back to me
My prayers remain unanswered
Like someone dying of cancer
An inept bow-legged dancer
My skills are useless
My bites are toothless
My eyes are youthless
When my face has been strained
By the energy that was drained
On this ceaseless journey
To sate my ceaseless yearning

They don't look like the pictures they show
They only choose the photos that glow
They're so afraid of being alone
Willing to lie
To lure unsuspecting prey
And trap them in a spider web personality
But webs are useless against grander creatures
And become an annoyance
When all the wildlife
Can only see silk
And get itchy in the effected areas
In our minds we build barriers
In our hearts we grow wearier
Searching for someone to hold us tight at night
Someone that looks right in the light
Someone that helps fight all our plights
Someone to give that tranquil transition
Into that peaceful loving condition
Thomas EG Feb 9
I'd always been a little bearcub
Feeling my paws crunch the twigs and mulsh of the forest floor
Seasons are changing, though
I'm finally standing up on my hind legs
Raising my hands high, speaking up for the first time
Hoping that maybe you can hear me now
Letting my growls grow, my echo,
rumbling through the trees
Feeling the breeze in my hair
Knowing that I have made it
and I am home
~Finally started my medical transition and my voice is starting to drop~
we do not really know
what to expect of times to come

those who dare say they do
are more or less intelligently speculating
and their assumptions usually don‘t exceed
foggy predictions read from crystal *****

so what?
the problem is not really new
all our ancestors
     some more desperate than others
were longing for the certainty
they thought would go with knowledge
of all things as yet to come

     fact is we have survived without it
     for some million years

even if our digitized society
     obsessed with quantifying everything
     from time to work to *** to pleasure
seems mortally in fear of lack of data
     about the future

the one thing we can say for sure
is that life will be different
because the only constant in our world
is change

     know it
     and get on
The last two lines are borrowed from U.S. author and Nobel Prize winner Toni Morrison in her reply to a question of what to do about unpleasant news/experience.--
Corvus Mar 2018
Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the slow braking of a car,
A seamless transition from driving to a standstill.
Sometimes you need to slam on.
And it never happens silently,
There's always a screech or a thud or a gasp,
It takes you by surprise and it lurches you forward.
You have to hold on for dear life.
The unexpected nature of it wreaks havoc on your insides;
Butterflies are woken up from your stomach and become nausea.
You check to see if all your limbs are intact, or in fragments.
Then you do the same for your heart,
Searching to see if it went through the windshield
Or if it managed to stay held inside by your unyielding ribs,
Only ever collapsing under the strain of breaths,
Hyperventilating into an airbag.
Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the steady sigh of relief,
It's the jagged, shaky breaths that never fully extend
In or out, and there's no calming halt afterwards,
Just a process of continuously hitting the brakes.
Hollow Steve Jul 2015
Catapault me into chaos,
I wish to get a little closer.
Your tainted eyes speak to me.
I wish to get to know you,
just a little bit better.

If I can handle it,
I'll stick around and play.
Too much pain is a killjoy.
If it burns too much,
I'll blow out the fire someday.

Criss-crossdresser,
I'm seduced into your submission.
My identity remains in shambles,
I'll see you on the otherside,
as I walk through this transition.

A possible phase,
or a permanent reside?
I am lost in mindless self indulgence.
If I dance in the rain,
I'll no longer have to hide.

An eternal blue flame,
made of youth and spirit.
Love could only feed the madness.
To remain the same,
is something my mind could never inhabit.

So dance, and dance,
and sing the tunes of duality.
I experiment with composure.
And once I find balance,
my dream will be that much closer
Arke Sep 2018
red torii gates separate the sacred
engraved with kana names
I step on the stone tiles
reinvent myself by praying
to every god I have never believed in
donating all the coins I have to shrines
the omamori will protect me
with pretty ribbons, silk, and wood
their birds guide to understanding
converting lies into truths before me
their paper songs a tender kindness
and there is courage within me
even as my voice turns to melody
my words spill out a tune
the temple walls hum
a chorus of veracity, louder
I have come to realize the importance
of moral authenticity within me
your gracious decency, divine
delicate gentleness with my fragility
from shattered pieces I rebuild
recollect myself and rise stronger
the sakura blossoms melt
the tide rises up the torii
compelled by a cold moon
wooden birds take flight away
and I return solid and true
Arianna Oct 2018
Scarlet Maiden, the roses smold'ring
To ashes in your wake
As you draw phoenix-like nearer the altar!

Let fall thy shroud before the mourners, fair Lover,
As the flick'ring lamps unveil the shadows,
And with them: the face of thy Beloved.
"Prayers and Musings in the Temple of Fire, No. IV"
Arke Sep 2018
I needed to hear these words today
and I thought,
maybe you need to hear them, too

sometimes you’ll put up a good fight
you will do everything right in life
and you will still lose
sometimes you’ll hold on really hard
and realize there is no choice
but to let go and walk away
this isn't failure, or weakness
this is part of being human
acceptance is a strength

you cannot convince anyone to love you
not your mother, nor partner, nor friends
those in your life will never give you love
just because you want them to give it
love can move freely
it ebbs and flows in every direction
and it graces people with it's presence
just as quickly as it leaves us bereft
and perhaps it's fleeting nature
makes it all the more beautiful
when people who love each other
connect
Though, I dish out my love freely and it will always exist for those special people who are in my life. <3
ˏˋDalPalˊˎ Oct 2014
Here's a thanks to my grade school teachers

thanking my first grade teacher
for getting me into writing

thanking my second grade teacher
for letting me write a longer book than anyone else
and teaching me it was alright to be different

thanking my third grade teacher
for being stern with me
and letting me know that not everyone is going speak to you with sugar coated words

thanking my fourth grade teacher
for showing me to share a little bit of yourself with everyone

thanking my fifth grade teachers
for helping me with the first year of middle school when no one else would

thanking my sixth grade teachers
for probably the greatest year of my life and teaching me life lessons I wouldn't have gotten until now

thanking my seventh grade teachers
for teaching me that being funny and creative is nothing to be afraid about and giving feels just as good as receiving

thanking my eighth grade teachers
for making me feel alright about the scary transition coming up and bonding with my classmates even more

thank you for helping me grow up
Just going down memory lane
Stu Nov 2018
Someday soon,
under a new sun,
We will sing a bird's song of white and gold hues.
Of beaming light.
Of warmth encompassing all that we love.
And it will be magnificent.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2017
oh, these messages, you send,
invitations to a gala, a black tie affair,
but only if willingly pay the exorbitant fare,
your money's no good, you must dare,
find and write the poem hid within

how cold are the carpenter's hands,
the weather, but an added obstacle,
this heat, makes dying different difficult,
the wood bearing cross requires additional nails
and flesh, for the extra load he's bearing,
when it snows blood in Jerusalem

the whole world can transition
when one man dies and another is risen,
where oh where lies then, the juxtaposition?

there is none, for man is man,
his divine spark, embedded,
to his maker's mark, wedded,
neither snow or sun,
can ever, either, extinguish*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
any message you send can and will be turned into a poem
"how cold are the carpenter's hands"... patty m

patty m  Divine intervention
extensions of grace
kiss the doubt from the
blind man's face.

Yet all are blind and deaf
so few left who truly believe
when tricksters smile and
cunningly deceive.
Where is the lamb
who died for man
how cold are the carpenter's hands.
Jerusalem where all roads lead
in winter white your sorrows bleed.
Lie still awhile and mull the words
all creatures big and small wo;; be spared
if on they believe, repent, circumvent the globe
frontal lobe what's in this treasure trove? myrrh and frankincense. stabled now in a manger
of hay, Earth Christmas Day.
Thomas Mackie Jan 20
Fangs are sprouting from my skull,
you cannot stop what must be done.
Bound indoors with curtains drawn,
until moon takes the place of sun.

Needle sharp teeth puncture your skin,
the transformation has begun.
I whisper something in your ear,
your human form and gender, none.

When coven blood out-thickens water,
we have just started all the fun.
Vampires have to stick together,
no mother, father, daughter, son.
This poem is meant to create a parallel between the transgender experience and that of a vampire. The duality between two different transformations both fueled by puncture wounds, as well as the pattern that happens after you come out. Once one person in a community is out of the closet, oftentimes others follow because they feel safer to do so. This is not a critique of my community. Trans folks are not monsters. However, sometimes we are ostracized and treated as if we were. I think I'd be proud to be a vampire, too.
A student of the crowded breeze.
On a whim Raise like the dandelions' seed,
Vibrantly dissent like, in fall, trees' leaves.
An apostle of purpose beyond what one sees for the unknown is nothing and possibility.

Our lessons are on the topic of practical whimsy, in their way; the wind that cools your face also fans a flame and guides the rain.
The Sensei go by many names, I know them from the roles they play:

Boreas shepherds my turmoil,
A tempest;
senseless, cold and violent as if without vision only vengeance.

Notus shows my passion;
A gust to an ember on dry land,
Unreasonable, unpredictable and destructive without a plan.

Zephyr entices my love;
A subtle intimate current for dance,
The beauty of birds and bees flying from flower to flower and branch to branch.

Eurus reflects my way;
A flurry that moves the sand.
The removal of sediment,
the return to foundation born from action mixed with patience.

They can only guide me
I can ride the winds of the odyssey or resign to the winds of dreams
but I know
I Am
A student of the breeze.
Boreas- the north wind in Greek mythology associated with the storms
zephyr- the west wind associated with spring
Notus- the south wind associated with crop destruction (end of autumn)
Eurus-the east wind the associated with opposing Noctus and autum bounty

looking for a new muse to learn new things about myself through someone true to themselves
D Awanis Oct 2016
The day before yesterday //

I couldn’t help myself but longing for your existence
It felt strange to have my body wrapped and my back rubbed by someone that is not you
It felt unfamiliar not to hear you talk about the weather and the sky after you question my day
It felt odd to feel the stain of coffee left on his lips—because it ain’t the one you used to sip

Yesterday //

I couldn’t help myself but wonder about the probability of us
Tell me that being stucked in traffic jam doesn’t make you wish you were spending it with me
Tell me that your feet don’t dance to Ella Fitzgerald and suddenly missing the tip of my toes on top of them
Tell me that when you look at her face, you don’t search even an ounce of my warmth there

The day after yesterday //

I’m quietly pleading for your mercy
Forgive me that I almost forget the way your laughter sounds or the way you sigh when you feel hopeless;
or the transition in your voice when you get mad but choose not to show it
or how your fingers fit the spaces between mine perfectly—and God, do I miss them
the only time i'd ever miss you was yesterday; as in the day before yesterday, yesterday, and the day after yesterday
Departure the welcoming light to walk slowly into the darkness

Wedged between night and day, for a split second

The splendor the Sunset Walker can see is captivating

Observing the color of the cloud's and sun's transformation

Seeing reflection transition flashed across the sky

The eyes take pictures of this wonder and describe it

So others can feel that they are walking along beside you.


Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Finally
In silence
You'll find true self

How long
You have been lost
What
Ultimately matters
You'll realize
To be grateful to
Sunrise
Night sky
Faithful pray
The air
The water

That very moment
You'll authenticate
Your falls
Your losses
Your hurts
All with a pride

You'll conclude
Why loosing is winning
At the end
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Self Exploration
M Salinger Dec 2018
I have these
persistent
whispers of fears
that I won't love someone
so wholly
& deeply,
that I won’t feel that
intensity
that intensely,
again

it’s a
strange fear
since
no fiber
of
my being
is the
same
as it was,
back then

my bones
don’t remember
that blood
coursing all around,
pumping me full of
toxins
that felt like the
transcendence
of a runner’s high
melting
into an ******

this
is not the
body
of someone whose
life
was so closely intertwined
with yours,
back then

all that's left
is a faint linger of sensation
a hint of a memory,
like thinking of a taste
or a smell

but what my heart can’t
remember,
my mind can't
forget

you haunt me
still
in my
dreams,
of a bond
that could have been,
that a viable transition
could have been,
that no
love
need be
lost

wakefulness
coaxes me
out
as I start to remember..
it’s not
me
who should
fear
that melancholy

because
you
my dear friend,
are the *****

of a finger, that
throbs & aches
but in
hindsight,
is never as consequential
as it
felt

that at
most,
leaves a
shadow of a
scar

on a new
layer
of fresh
skin,
soft to the
touch
and
well-worn

with quiet assurance
and kind courage

two things
I hope for
you
but fear
you’ll never
have

soft, persistent
whispers
that guide me
away from
you..
Corvus Jan 2017
Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the slow braking of a car,
A seamless transition from driving to a standstill.
Sometimes you need to slam on.
And it never happens silently,
There's always a screech or a thud or a gasp,
It takes you by surprise and it lurches you forward.
You have to hold on for dear life.
The unexpected nature of it wreaks havoc on your insides;
Butterflies are woken up from your stomach and become nausea.
You check to see if all your limbs are intact, or in fragments.
Then you do the same for your heart,
Searching to see if it went through the windshield
Or if it managed to stay held inside by your unyielding ribs,
Only ever collapsing under the strain of breaths,
Hyperventilating into an airbag.
Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the steady sigh of relief,
It's the jagged, shaky breaths that never fully extend
In or out, and there's no calming halt afterwards,
Just a process of continuously hitting the brakes.
Old.
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2014
When I enter,
the black holes of myself,
they are located,
transcribed upon the
blackboards of our
unified bodies,
the magnification of energy
transversed,
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
creation,
the rebirthing of one universe
never ending

When I enter a woman,
the discovery sought,
the definitional needed,
the proofs equational,
the factors constant,
not the variable
truths,
the demonstrations positive,
the constants of the universe,
combinational, all within,
a single point glistening

to gentle comfort this
knowledge of my wasting,
the foresight of my limitations
from the day of birth
my matter,
matters,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
illimitable,
my decline inevitable

and yet

cannot alter my atomic structure.
my future guaranteed,
my inner light,
traveling so fast,

it has yet

to arrive

When I enter a woman,
the laws of physics
become special theories
of relativity,
we are motion in time,
force and energy
nucleotides rawest refined,
elemental and particle nuclear,
packets of light
exclaimed

When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
interdisciplinary
my body and its life force
shaped as
electric current transceivers
crossing galaxies,
there can be no deceivers,
there but and only
the birthing of heat,
a byproduct of
interjection, conjunction

she is my proof
long after the
log normal of my nerves,
now parceled to the
invisible of an oscillating
log natural,
fertilizes the sea grasses
that so intoxicate,
flying, carried,
by the invisiblity of the winds,
all-where I have chosen
as my shifting shape,
when this container
leaks and *****'d,
rentery orbit,
the nearest garbage strewn
construction-dead
lot

When I enter a woman,
physics far beyond
the commonplace,
physical transition
to knowledge
of life ever after

death and fear are
time sensitized
passing notions,
crushed by the
consolation of physics,
the eternality
of a time
once begun,
cannot end,
and therefore
this,
my one theory of everything,
is the God
I worship
The phrase "the consolation of physics" was taken from a novel,
City of Thieves by David Benioff. The other nonsense is all my fault.
11/23/14 8:30am

for my blonde Big Bang theorist
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