Myself
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by Renee M
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.
In January 1992, I only had six months to wait until my GRS with Stanley Biber in Trinidad, Colorado. My mind was awhirl, a mix with elated, happy, proud, sad, angry, hurt and other feelings.
It was only two years since my first contact with other TG people at a Tri Ess meeting. There, I met other TSs and began to realize that I was also TS.
Everything seemed to be happening very fast. I felt like I was on an accelerating rocket sled. My mind was clearer and working better than it had been since high-school. For the first time in my life (excepting for class or homework), I wrote some poems. I used free verse. This one definitely had the most meaning and passion.
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