I wrote this poem in the winter 1991 - 1992. I had recently moved out on my wife, at the time, and in with my first Tgal lover. I'd started HRT in June '91 and had my GRS with Dr. Stanley Biber in Trinidad, Colorado scheduled for June '92.

I had met my first M2F TS in January 1990 and realized I was TS later that year. In 2 1/2 years, I was going from being in denial about my true self and seeming like a "normal guy" to most people, to being post-op. Sometimes things seemed to be going so fast that I felt like I was on a rocket sled. I wanted to transition so much and I felt that I had wasted so much time; there was nothing to do but go as fast as possible, but still my head was spinning from all the changes.

Personhood congealed; I was.
Identity, strange-structured, snapped on societys
          unbending forms.
Torn within, I buried the wound with reactive,
confused denial;
Attempted opposite alternatives hopeless.
Childhood to twenties, I riskingly tumbled through
          partial, translucent identities; laboring to better
          protect the sore; sealed from consciousness.
Freedom, satisfaction; brief illusions.
Stiffening adulthood roles advanced; pressure;
          submission; conformity.
Soul incomplete, dysphoric; feelings fading, frozen.
The sores containment embrittled; cracked; split wide.
The wound stank.
Crazed poisons pervaded me.
Drugs, street then clinical, sustained me sickly.
I hurt; twisted; gasped; yearned; reached out.
I discovered a mirror in fellow changelings.
A path revealed.
Knowledge crept, revelation irrepressible.
Fever bathed me; unifying; terrible.
It broke.
I was clear. Flying. Changed. Blinking at
          accelerations.
Self-blinders below; behind; broken.
I soared pathward; metamorphisizing; home-lost;
Propelled by releasing stored repression.
Growth and change my goal;
Assured.