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10 2009 Poems

Posted by soulconstance , in Multiple Poems 17 July 2010 · 64 views

I'd Rather Float

Jump headfirst into this dismal light,
a swimming pool filled by plight.
Take your shadows with you!
Those angels cursed with flight
will show you down the rabbit hole
one more time, everything is wrong.
I'm not real, you were right.
Safe for now by hurricanes bellow you
I'll drink in all of these gifts.

With some people, it's just impossible to do the right thing - regardless of how hard I try. Sometimes I just have to accept the position of the antagonist, and just take care of myself.


I am a dagger to my own self...
cut open far enough in the past, you see
that I wriggled free and crawled away
into a world made by her for me.
This is all foreign to an alien,
I'd rather stay inside where it's warm.

I wrote this after my x-girlfriend broke up with me and it was far to hard to be around her... namely because she expected nothing to change, but made me feel... well, as the first poem here suggests, that I couldn't do anything right. It was easier to dissociate and let my others take over because many of them are female, and my x-gf wouldn't badger them about their gender. I felt, also, like I just brought a lot of everything on myself, and was essentially destroying myself by not being strong and by letting what she said get to me. The rest of it, well... I'd rather not explain.


They don't understand the despair,
the fear,
how it feels to hide under here.
Far underneath the skin,
look, I'm lurking deep within.
I'm the one faking it,
lying in a breath,
wishing for death every time you say…

She, that singular word.
You must think it's obvious –
small pink lips,
large hazel eyes.
I despise
And me,
And everything!

I hate the world with metallic majesty
springing from my lips,
bounding off my tongue.
I hate the world with open ears,
open mind,
open eyes –
with courtesy that I wish I could loose!
Let me open the door for you
into my heart
where you can tear me apart with…

You have me defined.

There is no she here.
I was not made for baring babies
Or singing songs, or dancing.
I was made for moshing!
I was made for punching your boyfriend on a Saturday night
Because he can't keep his hands off my…

She, it was the word given to me years ago,
The parameters of my body, my mind, my sex…
But not my soul.
My soul is pure, safe from your glaring eyes,
safe from your social mind.

Obviously, this poem is about how hard it is to be called by the wrong pronouns, to be assumed to be the wrong gender.... and understanding why people do it, so instead of correcting them or lashing out, I just sit there and try to let it roll off of me like water. But it hurts. It hurts that some people can see it so plainly... that they give me hope when Ts or other transfolk ask me if I'm on T, but then waiters and teachers and guest speakers in classes call me 'she'..... and I just want to die a little inside. The comment about hating the world with metallic majesty is a comment about my father, whom has given me a massive ammount of insults baout my piercings, including telling me that because I have them, I must hate the world, or that I must be anti-social. It seems that those who have their strict idea of who they think I am... just don't realize how much I hurt myself to protect them... how much they hurt me and I don't react because I feel helpless or because I feel like... if I'm just kind enough, or loving enough, or give them enough time... eventually they'll come around. And they don't realize that they break my heart. ---- Ironically, though...... more often than not, children think I'm exactly what I am - a boy. I've had children comment that I'm short for a boy, and their parents have tried to 'correct' them by telling them that I'm a girl. I've had children call me by male pronouns without anyone telling them what to call me. And if they don't think I'm a boy, they often don't know what I am and will ask which I am. I've had kids as old as 12 make these kinds of comments. Somehow, though, after that age, they always peg me as female. Sometimes it makes me sad that often, children have the right idea of me.... when adults never do.

Btw... this was intended as spoken word.


Am I a hallucination? A delusion?
A mirage? A optical illusion?
An imaginary friend to my friends?
An apparition dismissed in the bathroom?
The girl that's a boy
That's a boy that's a girl?
But if I'm here then I must be
A boy!
Who must be a girl!
Because I keep my head down
And run around with lips in a frown.

I'm creeping under bindings,
Pulling clothes steadily over my head
To hide what God made me.
Should have been a boy instead!
Still, she made me like her
So why do I complain?
Even my father would rather be a dame.

I'd rather remain the one unnoticed,
The one ignored because I am estranged -
Estranged enough to be rearranged
By doctors and therapists,
My identity amiss.

I will not give you what you want -
To conform to this gender prison!
I'd rather stand in a crowd
And yell "I am ze, an
Androgynous queer transsexual!"
An "abomination" of gender debauchery.
Merely because I'd rather be happy
Than gain acceptance in misery.

This was obviously another trans poem. It was an expression of gender confusion imposed by a society that doesn't accept that it's as simple as I'm a boy who was born with the wrong chromosomes. People want to make excuses. And if it comes down to I'll never be a boy, I'd rather just be somewhere off the scale, androgynous rather than female. And I'd be proud to admit that... so say, yes, I'm trans, yes, I was born female. There's nothing anyone can do to tell me different as to who I am. I am me, and I know who I am. I'd rather be seen as a freak of an abomination or someone who is damned to hell than live a life of misery where I hate myself for my sex and cannot connect to my body because of it.

Btw... another spoke word.


Once you feel it you'll know.

Words – trigger – gunshot
Right to the heart,
Left from the head,
Tangle and release the one dead.
Outside dreams – inside world
To open - foreclosed.

Fate never leaves the life.

Huge amounts of contradiction are intended in this poem. What it meant to explain how words can have such an impact on a person... and how what you mean can end up coming out twisted. When you try to push someone to something that you think is best for them... you may end up hurting them in the process of pushing them the opposite direction by accident.

Day's Life

Words and windswept
On the borderlines of you,
Tinkering in the hankering
Of forgotten pleasantries.
Yank me down from windowsills
Till crashes become dreams.

It appears I have overslept.

I used to be this huge fan of dreaming. I loved being asleep. However, I hated waking up because reality was never quite as good as my dreams were.
Now, it's actually about the other way around, but this poem was written in a time when sleeping was my release.


Worshiping memories
Sidestep the places we go,
Lies dug into the sidewalks
When whispers once said no.
"Take me away," it said.
Far releases in the snow.
I will love your sorrow
In passionately does blow.


Safe Hands

Do not hide the wounded eyes
That plea for their safety.
For knives to scratch the doll
And free it from these lies.
I will hold your hand till then
For you to see the sun.
Does it shine brightly yet?
Have you finally won?

Struggling out of my skin....

I Want To Be a Doll

He wants to be the one -
hair frosted that steams like lace,
a perfectly painted ivory face;
just for a second
to please their senses.
Frozen in a pose,
he could be the zombie
she always was.

Why do some of the people in my life struggle so hard to keep me female when I have explained to them time and time again that being female will lead to death. I've explained the statistics of suicide rates in transsexuals pre-transition, I've explained to them how I felt as a child... I've given them undeniable proof. Still, they want to fit me in this box. Sometimes I think... I could be a martyr, and sacrifice myself. Sometimes, I want to do it just to prove to them... because I'm so angry that I just want to show them just what will happen if I am a girl. Of course, years of suicide attempts never proved anything to them. After all, I'm crazy. Sometimes, I think... they'd rather have me dead than be a man. Sometimes I think I'd rather forget them than have them in my life. Because it's too hard to live for them... I've done it for years... and all it brought me was misery. You see... I WANT to be a girl, but I have never been a girl. I NEED to be a boy, but I have never been seen as a boy. Nothing's simple in this besides the fact that I am simply a boy stuck in a girl's body.

Spent Dreams

It's not a day you normally spend,
it's dreams and hope
cascading down your back.
Tip into the night
you find the answer
when you look.


That's that for now.

Copywrite Soulconstance aka Quin aka Me.

Trigger Warning

Warning: Some of my poetry and prose may be triggering. I write just about as much about survivor issues as I do about love.
Please keep yourself safe.

July 2016

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