Short Trans Poems
Short Trans Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Trans by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Trans by length and keyword.
Are u hu-man? Or?
P C imam bot legese?
Woe-ad priest Par'i?
Seine fish (aroma)
2000 years, new bottles old whine!
Crawling's not flying!!
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
I am listening to some wonderful music this season.
The Trans-Siberian Orchestra is the reason.
The sounds they produce are a sensation.
Combining modern sounds with classic is a fascination.
Such glorious Christmas music is what they play.
They have me in the spirit for the holiday.
She
The word traps me
It crawls under my skin
And suffocates my mind
She
The word cries with me
It steals my confidence
And takes my will
She
The word is not me
It’s known with a different heart
Called to a different mind
She
The word they call
The one they know
But she will never be me
"I'm not a boy", my child announces.
"I've always been a girl."
And without hesitation I say
"That's wonderful!
I can curl you hair
and we'll plan a celebration
with flounces and flair -
go shopping for a pretty dress.
I guess you'll need some makeup
and nail polish too..."
She said
"Don't try to make me just like you."
There's a constant drone in the back of my head
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
A constant drone that turns my vision red
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
Snap
Snap
Snap
Snap
Every picture hurts
Crack
Crack
Crack
Crack
The facade's about to burst
Never so scared
Chains on my chest
Can't hear me
Help
Help
I am exposed
I will be hurt
So obvious
So vulnerable
Panicking
Shutting down
Can't shut down
Have to go onstage
Can't go onstage
Shutting down
Can't shut down
Have to go onstage
Can't go onstage
Shutting down
One hour twenty minutes left
Please help
Please help
I'm stuck
I need my binder
I left it at home
Are you a boy
Or are you a girl?
Are you human
Or a mural?
Can I manipulate you
Like clay?
Can I warp your sense of logic
By the twisted thoughts I say?
Fearing what I can't explain
Knowing what I know isn't right
Succumbing to the wave of fright
Humanity believes is a fight
Logic dictates
So I must anticipate
That society won't advance
Due to the present circumstance.
He once was a she,
Playing with his dolls,
He always felt wrong,
He felt like his body was not his own,
The boy felt alone,
He knew his parents would never believe him,
That their beloved daughter,
Was actually a son,
That the meat on his chest,
Was not meant to be,
Not allowed to have more masculine hair,
Or a binder to flatten his chest,
But he didn't let them smother him,
And instead he broke free,
Becoming who he wanted to be.
Just maybe
Maybe I can understand
Why you say these things
Is it to flood my mind
To bring me tears
To stress me out
To cause me pain
To make me ashamed
Of who I am today
Or to make who I am
Simply go away
Why else would you say
That you’re grieving me
I’m still by your side
I’m still here
I’m still me
I haven’t left
And I’m not planning on leaving
So why
Why would you say that you grieve me
When all I want to do
Is be who I’m meant to be
When I discovered I was no longer a boy
I saw woman as a distant planet
visible through a telescope
who was in another galaxy
I pointed my rocket ship away
leaving father Earth and his gravity
which left me sailing in free fall
not sure how to navigate
watching rockets fly past me in the same direction
and other motherships float more toward Earthen feilds
seeing some of us get caught in the gravity of smaller objects
I often wonder if any of us reach home
A lone stoic blackbird
sat on a lamp post squawking
away; his eerie crowing
piercing the graveyard silence.
The sleepy yawning sun
pulled himself up
and over the shading horizon;
reflecting a golden glow.
The quiet air was as still as
an aged autumn tree—standing
all alone—naked, and as shameless
as was Joan of Arc, herself.
Springtime has long passed on
and autumn/fall has begun to wane;
however, the morning sun slowly prepares
himself to resist the coming tease of winter.