Loss Gender Poems

Stimming Towards Euphoria

She be riding on that trans train
Lost her wit and half her brain
Next time that I see her
She won't be the woman I...

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This Earth's a place we call our own
When we can stand with Her lands
And look within great loves we've known
For hope that we might share...

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Held to expectation cast by citizens
Mirror assures return of gilded grins
Ballroom brag pats his back
Dancer has handshakes lubricated
Dignitaries' approval demonstrated

Slide through sludge of embellishing
Climbing supply...

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Sleeping through the stress
Soiled in mixed silence
Jotting every joke in justice

Like the lies of lilac
Calling itself clear
But feels like a beauty
Arranged clothes for the weeks...

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They say they grieve
Grieve the loss of their baby girl
But I don't know how to get across
I'm no longer their little pearl
They just gloss 
Over...

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Looking back, one thing comes clean-glass clear
you were always there for me subduing every fear.

I tried to do my duty, be a husband strong and...

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Me trying to get that space .
But I am push in the corner.
Me crying out my frustration.
But they make a hopeless girl.
Is that the home...

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She seems afraid to say too much
and not listen enough.

Perhaps fear of becoming misunderstood
and, worse, too quickly dismissed,
her moment,
even in this small-staged sanctuary,
unnoticed
under-nourished
unfed
unwatered.

She wants to...

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wing my loss) if grim reaper 
     came for das scribe as skew
ward poem attempted to infer, now 
circling back to...

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EarthMama Invites

Without RightDaddy Dominance,
Left EcoMama
and Her still innocent suppressed Children,
share no opposing WinLose
assuming
internalized voices,
just anxious and angry
and fearful feelings
about LoseLose
ZeroZone,
ego and Earth
matriarchal-line 
extinguished.

Because all RightBrain...

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From transition from the girl that I was, 
to the woman I am is not without loss. 
My face that drew comments of how pretty...

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I take a four-fold spin
through Bill Plotkin's wheel
of bilateral identities,
iconic developmental faces,
ironic personalities.


FIRST comes Eastern-born
dawn of human infancy,
Innocent Sage infants
so WiseElder
in our LeftBrain emergent
wrinkling unfolding...

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Prisons,
like slavery,
and economic and political prostitution,
are rooted in unfortunate histories
of criminal choices.

Criminal behaviors 
are rooted in revenge
and fear
and anger
and insanely aggressive feelings
of entitlement,
bad faiths in...

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You buy into this PC-stuff,
it seems you always have,
but now I think that you have
gone just a little mad.
You demand I call you ‘Jane,’
when you...

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I recall a card game
probably extending back past the 1950s
called Old Maid.

There was also Authors
and a few other choices
less popular with me.
But Old Maid sticks...

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