Best Transgender Poems
You who throw stones
Held so tightly in your hand
Like it is your all
Your pride
Your hands are bloody
Because you are a sinner
You are a sinner, and you throw the first stones
Stones that come in words and pain
Whether you were the ones who shouted total trans death
Or the ones who wish pain
Or the ones who support a militia divided
You thereby mind me as level with the pigs
And it is sad
I pray for you
For my God said love thy neighbor
To you who hate so many minorities
A sad message I unfold
For those who wish to make decisions for my very own body
And those who are so bold
Racists or prejudice, those guilty of misogyny
You yourselves
Are the faulty minority
I am a girl,
Everyone sees it.
I graciously accept the label,
Twirling in a girls spool,
And playing it up for others.
Sometimes I feel an itch,
In a place I can't reach.
There are times when it quells,
When my voice cracks,
And I am somewhere else.
Where my hair is to my neck,
And my voice bellows.
But I am brought back to reality,
Because I am a girl.
He comes out again,
Stilling me when girls are asked to line up,
Twitching when a teacher asks for a 'strong boy',
I hold him back,
A slap on the wrist,
A prisoner in a cell.
But in the deepest of my thoughts,
I am free,
Completely and utterly.
He is with me,
Unchained,
But it ends every morning I wake.
I step out of the shower,
Hair cascading down,
As I stand in front of my reflective captor,
A deep rumbling comes from inside me,
And he bubbles up to the surface,
Itching and scraping at my soul.
I claw at the confines of my chest,
And he bursts out like dynamite,
Sparks flowing,
Tingles of electricity follow my nerves,
And I truly see him,
Staring back at me,
He smiles softly and my eyes open wide,
The words linger on the tip of my tongue,
But they stay rooted in my brain,
As him and I both realize,
I am a boy.
Know you not, that I live in pain?
With features that drives me insane,
No matter, how much I try in vain,
I am a girl in a body for men!
To the world I am a bit *****,
That makes me a victim of bully and sneer,
For my piercings in my nose and ear,
And those pretty earrings that I love to wear,
Is it a sin to dress in a skirt?
And my blouse frills that I wish to flirt,
All for an organ that makes me; part,
With my identity deep in my heart?
How I wish, I could walk in my heels,
And seek attention of men with skills,
To shower me with loving care and will,
And presence that provides me a joyous feel;
My passionate desire is to have a friend,
Girl with whom I could delightfully spend,
Moments discussing fashions latest trend,
And secrets to keep unto our lives end.
The world impedes me from breaking my shell,
And my desire to be a belle,
Yet there are moments I live in a spell,
Know that I’m stuck in hell!
In recognition of the plight of Transgenders in our society!!
A transgender child
does not not exist
just because a white man
says that that is so
as two spirited
third genders
and others
(eight in the Talmud! that I didn’t know)
exist around the globe
as in the
hijra of India
fa’afafine of Samoa
burrnesha of Albania
quariwarmi of Peru
guevedoche of Dominican Republic
muxe of Oaxaca
sekrata of Madagascar
fakaleiti of Tonga
lhamana of Zuni
winkte of Lakota
bakla of Philippines
acault of Burma
xanith of Oman
and waria of Indonesia
just to name a few
gender is as binary
as is the world is flat
asserting so otherwise
is simply spewing scat
In shadows deep, where silence weeps,
A heart once bold, now quietly sleeps.
My brother, dear, with dreams untold,
Faced a world that felt so cold.
In mirrors, he searched for who to be,
A dance between truth and what others see.
In the light of dawn, he sought to find
The pieces of self, intertwined, unconfined.
Each struggle, each tear, a story to share,
A journey through pain, a breath of despair.
Yet in the night, he found his grace,
A spirit unbroken, a gentle embrace.
In shadows deep where silence weeps,
A brother’s heart, a sister keeps,
Through tangled paths, your truth unfurled,
A journey brave in a shifting world.
Each whispered doubt, each tear concealed,
A struggle fought, yet love revealed,
In every scar, a story spun,
A bond unbroken, two lives as one.
Though time moved on, and seasons changed,
Your spirit soared, yet felt estranged,
In memory’s embrace, you still reside,
Forever cherished, my heart’s great guide.
So here I stand, with love so deep,
In memories cherished, your soul I keep,
For in the dance of life, and dreams that soar,
You are my sister, forevermore.
I am transgender, a soul untamed,
Seeking solace, my true self proclaimed.
In this journey, I've found my role,
Here's what I need to be made whole.
Acceptance, a beacon to light my way,
Embracing love, where judgment won't sway.
A mirror that reflects my inner grace,
To see myself, unburdened by the chase.
Understanding hearts, compassionate and kind,
A refuge where I can peace of mind find.
Words of affirmation, whispered in the air,
Affirming my existence, showing they care.
A world that dismantles oppressive walls,
Where equality reigns and prejudice falls.
Opportunities to thrive, without constraint,
For my dreams and talents, a fair playing paint.
Connection to a community, strong and tight,
Where unity blossoms, like stars in the night.
Courage to be vulnerable, without fear,
Knowing my truth is valued and held dear.
I am transgender, bold and unafraid,
Demanding respect, in every accolade.
With these elements, a tapestry untold,
I'll embrace my journey, and forever unfold.
If our love is a sin, then heaven must be full of such tender and selfless sinning as ours— Radclyffe Hall
Explore themes of love and identity
Of Stephen Gordon’s innate sense of masculinity
Since a child, her desire, ‘women’
The idea that if love is considered a sin
The unfolding of a female sexual invert
The act of loving must be a tender selfless act, revert?
Love itself is not inherently sinful or
complexities of love, we shan’t ignore
But rather the circumstances surrounding it
Misfits from Malvern to London and then to Paris!
Ira furor brevis, the frailty, taboo and strife
Fellow q***r characters, all walks of life
From the *sapphic salon hostess Valérie Seymour
To the 'miserable army' and more
of outcasts that frequents the 'merciless
Drug-dealing, death-dealing' bars of Montmartre
Written in another time, still support and solidarity to
generations of LGBTQ genre
*Sapphic is an umbrella term for same-gender loving women or woman-aligned people, including lesbians and bisexual+ women. It is used to describe topics, activities, and ideas related to same-sex attraction among women. The term can also refer to the Greek lyric poet Sappho.
73 years ago
A kid my age steps off a curb.
And, in the motion of falling, he believes he can reach heaven.
He has the thoughts of someone
with an inverted ribcage
And he’s sick on cigarette smoke and hypocrisy.
A kid my age, 73 years ago, calls me a pervert.
Through the thin veil of time and space
We lock eyes.
I say “I see you.”
He says “You’re sick.”
But that’s wrong and he knows it.
I am not the sick one.
He is the kid with the killing hat
And the giving hands
That despise the people he gives to.
He is the kid with filthy thoughts and phony smiles
Who sees the hollow spaces between his ribs
In the innocence of a child’s eyes.
And despite the filth beneath his tongue
And the alcohol stinging his throat
I cannot bring myself to
Feel anything for him
other than
Pity.
A transgender angel is not alone at all in the heavenly hue
Every angel is multi-gender, for it makes incredible sense.
Sometimes they pull out their male, other times female will do.
Anyone not spiritually aware of this, is not stupid or dense.
They simply do not remember how heaven works in mysterious ways.
Where sexual proclivity means nothing; love is the only concern.
They have forgotten those pre-destiny watching the earth days.
Where they chose the right family for the lessons they must learn.
I wish they would remember and be open to everyone in the world.
I wish they would understand that love is the only thing that brings joy.
I wish they would surround the earth with compassion unfurled.
This would help all of our youth, including our transgender girl and boy.
There was something inside him
Screaming to be let out
Screaming to be seen
There was something inside him
But then he understood what it was
And she let it out
dear tall child,
your bones probably don't fit your frame yet;
they shift awkwardly,
and your spine hunches and slopes.
your hands are likely to be dry and grimy,
legs speckled with ant bites
that sting like fire.
spending those arid days snatching lizards off the hot terracotta wall,
next to the withered rose garden belonging to your shouting mother.
unfortunately for you,
the shouting will never stop;
your mother will bleed her vocal chords raw
trying to scare out your soul to place of her own.
there will be so much hardship,
but you will learn so so much.
so much.
to drown the world out,
just think about horses.
she will see you as strange
no matter what you do
just hop in the saddle
tighten the reins, grip the mane,
put your filthy Velcro sneakers into the stirrups,
and think about horses.
you will be a weird girl, it will hurt.
but suffering is just suffering,
and voices are just words.
you will become a strange young man, dear cowboy-
but you will always be that tall child.
a dear,
dear tall child
"You may now not serve this country
Though you may be fit and kind
I tell you this quite bluntly
I will suppress your kind
Petitions and the public
Shall never hassle my laws;
Amist a starving republic
They believe me
When I tell them you are the flaws
For I've convince them all the bathrooms
Are threatening where you lurk
I've convinced them all your schools
Are full of your witching work
So drink up; sweet deceit tastes good
I shall convince them you are a crime
My plan has made it thus far
And continues
One sip at a time."
Am I a girl, or just a boy,
who wants to be a girl?
Pink dresses don’t make a
vagina,and a football doesn’t
make a cock
Something happened in mum’s
womb, to make me feel like this,
should I cry or should I shout,
when all I want is bliss?
I’m an ice-cream in a Yorkshire
pud, the road ahead is long,
I hope the world won’t judge me;
the path to trans-gender is long
Female lips that don’t belong on me
Can anybody sense those colors are not mine?
I cry in blue, red , yellow twirls
just mutilating body that doesn’t belong to Soul
Incarcerated in a breathing mask
I look at YOU begging to see ME
As pupils burst the deepest love
Eyelashes can not flutter free
So gracious Nymph approaching silent me
Those candid, open lips Do belong on you
I grab my hands protective of the unknown
I’m just a paper mache… melting in the rain …
copyright 2011
iolanda scripca
Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?
Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers,
nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards,
nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. Who is left?
We are all subjects of mankind—
so let’s be kind and let us be by love defined—I Am Anaya
All Around The World
So why is it they can’t just see that: Differences shouldn’t be hated
Popes change dogma continually, Leviticus Bible verse should be updated
The revelation comes too late, and yes, it is belated
Unrighteous we are, why torment gay men and women, everyone’s unclean
and so you have it, anything else is contrary to sound doctrine,
In a sense, if you look about at the lout, ordinary men are just as obscene
Heterosexuals have shown us just how perverted they too can be
Easy to be lured into a night of dishonorable passions, a themed orgy
Unashamed, receive you will a due penalty, and remember the trilogy
Too many homosexuals living all around the world today
We know the facts, it is hard to come out, and no one chooses to be gay,
Some find out at age ten, he made no choice, never has it worked that way
To have a hatred so strong isn’t natural, it seems its rather what you seek
What makes any sense at all is that being different doesn’t make you week
What labels a freak, but God made us misguided, different, and meek
A mother knows her son is gay
She watched that he had grown up in his flamboyant way
Not a random whim conjured up one day
A heterosexual’s testimony is clear:
A teacher’s council and kind patience bolstered Rob’s resolve
To overcome youthful woes and nightmarish troubles solve
His humanity may have saved Rob’s life. His memory he holds dear
But whenever the name Mister James arose
Other kids just called him q****
Whatever kind of group it is you’re in
Just because they are different from you, but both same to sin
No one here will win or lose, all will end. And if so be it, once more begin.