Across the walls

The light from the illuminated electronic casts shadows across the walls.

My heart beats, echoing within my core.

I close my eyes as a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions close around me.


What do I do?

What have I done?

What happens next?

From each question, springs forth a fountain of truths, memories, and fears.


How do I navigate the impossible?

How do I cope with guilts and fears and still smile and be okay?

Questions compound in a cacophonous rapture.


The light from the illuminated electronic casts shadows across the walls.

I close my eyes.

My heart beats.

I shut them tight.



I knew since middle school

that something was off,

but I didn’t have the words to understand it

until college.


I didn’t think that it could be me,


I knew that I could never come out.



I knew there was no way that I would ever say a word about it,

question it.


Not even a hint.


I just knew that I would lose my family and


if I ever said anything about it.


I never thought I could live through that.


I had just moved with my fiancée,


I was suicidal from the guilt of who I was.


I had forced myself to believe I wasn’t trans,

a freak.


It was why I was suicidal.


But, I fell in love with my work,


it saved my life.


I felt like I was finally at a place

that was making

a real difference

in the world.

And, it gave me a reason

to live.



that reason

began to save



An Isolated Expectationist

I don’t mind being alone,

in fact I enjoy my alone time.

But, I just never let anyone close growing up,

and I was afraid of people getting too close.


I just did what people expected me to do

and I acted liked people expected me to act.

I didn’t question or challenge others.

I was the expected status quo.

Except when it comes to religion,

I grew out of that unacceptablely early.


I guess

I would have called


an isolated expectationist.


I wrote a six word memoir for myself at one point.

But, I can’t remember when.

And, I can’t remember why.

So, if I were to construct one now,

How would it go?


Don’t Panic. Okay. Never Mind. Panic.


Not, bad, but it is a bit bland and a bit,

Right on the Galaxy’s spine.

Try again.


Aware. Never Forgetting. Now, Always Forward.


That one seems close, but it still seems not quite there.

It needs more umph. More pizzazz. More more.


And, I am just getting started.


Better, I like it.

It is a callback,

But accurate.

Poem Version of What I Want to Write

Your Facebook posts are really beginning to piss me off.

I mean seriously.

First, you don’t even follow sports and the NFL protests bother you?

Aside from the fact that your white privilege is showing (again),

Why do you even care?

Why is that the thing that upsets you?

I don’t get it.

Because, the 21st transperson has been murdered so far this year,

And, yet, you say nothing.

How dare you rage at the NFL protest.

Men and women have fought and died for their right to protest.

For their right to take a knee,

For the police brutality,

For the racism inherent in a broken system,

For the lives lost due to hate,

For the injustice.


And second, you are retweeting organizations who support him,

Who are actively trying to take health care from children,

Who are trying to make it so that a restaurant can turn me away,

Who are going to stand by and let the gun violence carnage continue.

Some of those people you retweet, believe I am “Satan’s plan”,

Simply for me being me.

And you retweet their thoughts, mocking transpeople, mocking me.

And, it just sucks.

And, it hurts because I thought you had my back.

I thought I could count on you.


And, third, when you text me,

Text me and pretend that everything is alright,

Like everything is okay,

I can promise you, it is not.

To Consider It


I would consider it.

But, I need one thing first.

Okay, it is more like two things.

I need you to tell me how you feel about him.

And, I need you to tell me what you feel about the statement.

Tell me, how you felt when he called Mexicans rapist.

Tell me, how it is okay to brag about grabbing women “by the pussy”.

Tell me, how you feel when he lies again and again.

Tell me.

Tell me, your opinion on Adam and Eve.

Tell me, your opinion of “a homosexual or transgender self-conception”.

Tell me, what you believe.

Tell me.

And, I will consider it.

Because, the next time I see you,

I want to know exactly, precisely the person you are.