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
Alchemy?

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.


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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.

(untitled)

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
transcend
trans bend
gender
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.