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A few poems I want to share. JodyAnn


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My Price I Pay To Hope.

A poem by Jody

Hope is a nasty four letter verb.

It sets up my heart to be kicked to the curb.

Feeling a drop, then a drizzle, Hope's small gentle rain.

Then slippery, elusive, seeming to dissipate just to drive me insane!

Catch me a thimble full, a cup full, then next a bucket with a leak.

All washed away before me, that I thought was mine, whatever Hope made me seek.

Does a ruthless God laughingly stand back to enjoy all the tears that I cry?

Wicked Hope tricks me once again, rug pulled away, as I fall I just want to die.

Sleep, sweet eternal sleep, I so desire, escape from Hope at last, my trust to abide!

Or is this trickster Hope, tactically laying a new snare for me, just on the other side?

Thus I must wonder, who is this God I cling to with all of my pink beating heart?

The Author of Hope, a co-conspirator or a huckster, am I just his foolish Tart?

I abandon it all to Him, Hope be damned, I have no escape, I've slipped in love too deep.

The way God makes me feel so cared for, He just can't be unfaithful, a stalker or creep!

For all of my foolish desire to go and be with Him, God will come for me, I must wait.

Though with my small might, my wings won't lift me, Hope slays me on, is this my fate?

I will trade all Hope has to offer, to scrub the floors of Heaven with a smile on my face.

I can endure with my tears, that betraying Hope again, chance to lovingly gain my place.

Ó Copyright 2.5.2014 JodyAnnTaylor

The Pixie That Loves Me.

A poem by Jody

There is a pixie that lives in my brain.

She is a tiny sweet torrent. Love is her game.

Beautifully changing hues of pink, blue and purple too.

She's always batting her big blue eyes for shades of gray.

She steals my whiskers and paints my lips.

Always winking and smiling from the corner of my eye.

I long to see her sprightly beauty in every mirror I see.

She hides in my heart, odd guest reflections of her in the glass.

Teasing and tickling that beating heart in my expanding chest.

Peeking around vantages both so foreign and lovely fresh.

They look so intriguingly peculiar, but feel so at home for me.

When she enjoys me, she sprinkles my buds with sweet dewdrops.

I dress me up for her acceptance. Next I dress me down.

Just so a Lady can survive, living on the dangerous town.

She antagonizes relentlessly, no more drab glad rags of old.

The colors of a peacock unobtrusively condensed to a sparrow's mold.

She gives me back my youth. I want her sparkling charm.

Just to be loved as myself without any wayward harm.

Infatuation? Yes indeed, I love her so much I can't get away.

I want to be just like her and my own mirror someday.

One day soon, I earnestly hope and I pray.

To the God I so love. Please make me this way!

I wake today, to look in my mirror and what do I see?

Smiling brightly back, I'm the pixie I always longed to be!

Ó 01.26.2013 copyright JodyAnnTaylor

Mankind’s Mendacity Matures My Melancholy

A Bi-gender Poem By Jody

I am secure in my womanhood. God has set me free.

Yet so insecure in the black hearted world around me.

All harboring hurtful memories; he was never the man he appeared to be.

Why don’t I appear to the World as the lovely lady I am, so obvious to see?

Why do all those people have such beady staring small eyes?

Corridors to diremptious minds, with hearts embracing lies.

Do I also suffer that same smallness, judgmental affliction?

Even though I am born with my odd bi-gender contradiction.

I unchained my heart, hoping happy, joyous and free.

Just to be what I am to be, the woman deep inside of me

Served spite and scorn, murmur rumors all perverted dark.

Thus blocking out all the love given, just to leave me stark.

Crying oh God of my soul, my heart loving Lord,

Can’t this miracle you blessed me, give me afford?

Female yes indeed. Lady, Woman, Miss, Ma’am, She and Her,

All acknowledge my joy; yet too much for them to just concur.

Spike me to my cross with words such as He, Him, Mister and Sir.

Irrespective of ignorance, hatred or no malice, still driven with slur.

The truthful scribe in my hand flows sediments fly.

Waterfalls bleeding from my baby blue eyes as I cry!

I only want to be a girlish Angel, gowned beautifully in pure white.

How much boyish must I endure, before new wings give me flight?

Let my breasts stop heaving the breath of life, giving sunset to my rage

Please send my heart, being and energy to a magnificent bright new age.

May I leave it all to my sisters, as I have become far too weak?

My remaining desire is that for God, I am sufficiently meek!

Copyright 9.7.2014 JodyAnnTaylor

I hope you enjoy these, if you enjoy this sort of thing. Hug. JodyAnn

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  • Forum Moderator

Thank you Jody. I enjoyed each of them and will read them again. There is so much there to take in but each has a strong and expressive feeling.

Lots of hugs,

Charlize

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    • Abigail Genevieve
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    • MaeBe
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    • Abigail Genevieve
      Context.  Read the context.  Good grief.
    • MaeBe
      Please don't expect people to read manifold pages of fiction to understand a post.   There was a pointed statement made, and I responded to it. The statement used the term penetration, not "dissimilar anatomy causing social discomfiture", or some other reason. It was extended as a "rule" across very different social situations as well, locker and girl's bedrooms. How that term is used in most situations is to infer sexual contact, so most readers would read that and think the statement is that we "need to keep trans girl's penises out of cis girls", which reads very closely to the idea that trans people are often portrayed as sexual predators.   I understand we can't always get all of our thoughts onto the page, but this doesn't read like an under-cooked idea or a lingual short cut.
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      You look wonderful!!! A rose among the roses.
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      Mine would be SHEIN as much as I have bought from them lol.
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      This is the persistence in thinking of trans girls as predators and, as if, they are the only kind of predation that happens in locker rooms. This is strikingly close to the dangerous myth that anatomy corresponds with sexuality and equates to gender.
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