Poetry #104

Originally appeared in Transgender Tapestry #104, Winter 2004.

Poems by Jane C.
Jane writes, ?For many years I have written as a tool for catharsis. Now I feel I would like to share some of my work, and hope it might be helpful to another person.?

Pattern Of Life

Let go

Lest be the one left behind

Spring in our midst

New life before us

The ongoing journey we travel

Summer enlightened

Embracing all around

Love, laughter, and sorrow abound

Autumn moves briskly

As we shed our skins

Leaves strewn


Blindness of winter

And our senses lose track

White blankets surround us

Cleansing our souls

Another journey we have made

As shooting stars explode

And our sleeping friends awaken

Twenty-four Hours

Isn?t it funny?

When I think nothing can get any different;

Ideas that are there

Yet cannot yield a single, confident philosophy.

Maybe that?s just the way it is

For this hormone fuelled unyielding brain

Waiting to strike inside this green body of mine.

This is a bad day

A day when feeling isolated is the least of my concerns

A day where normalcy is for people whom I see pass me on the sidewalk

For they stride past me with a serene nonchalance

Seeming unaware of the dread I fear is coming

And yet cannot speak its name.


Poem by Chelsea C.

Chelsea is a self-identified radical dyke poet who loves to spend her time eating soy ice cream, talking to her puppy/ best friend, and growling at gender segregation. She hopes to someday find her ultimate muse.


i watched in amazement

as your life?s shape shifted

and you were left complaining

that these parts you were given did not belong to you

and self-proclaimed identities were only as good as the voices that declared them

tears i shed were left to gather dust

as you retreated deeper into self-defining

and my disregard for missing parts seemed to only frustrate you further

legs tangled in bed talk

i attempted a 4 am effort

at describing love's ability to


trans bend


and in deep-eyed affection you at last agreed

but forgot the conversation by the time the sun was born

i remember the first day i witnessed you heavy crying

in shock at the suggestion that you were

lying to the world

a thought that had never crossed your mind

and i was there to drink up tears

even though they burned my throat with liquid rage

at the injustices of the world

and the accusations that were fast shot at you by strangers

in forceful waves of defiance

i pushed the concept of resisting explanations

of what ?we? were

straight boi dyke girl

but your eyes seemed stuck

unable to look below the label to where I stood

eager to love in whatever shape it came

soon stress hidden in the guise of reality

descended upon us

and meticulously we worked at the deconstruction of

love?s routine

by rigid definition i fell short of standards set

you insist I ought to understand your need to

keep up appearances.