Susan's Place Transgender Resources

I just found this board... it is not where it used to be. So probably some people don't know about it.

I am calling of all you folks to put the stuff you're feeling inside.. get it down here. I Know a lot of people with a lot to say. A lot of y'all are coiled volcanoes. Follow Lori's example and express yourself. Even if you never have before. You don't know what you can do till you do it.

Get everything in... out. There are people who care what you think. <3

Everyone is a literal genius - OH, you said literary... Hmmm.. well, how about I come up with something in the style of a true genius of the word - Wilfred Owen?

"The Armor of Ink"
Her body's battlefield, a life in strife,
The world outside denies her inner peace.
But in her pages, she rewrites her life—
Each word a sword, each sentence her release.

In ink, she dons the armor they can't see,
Invisible to those who turn away;
Her brilliance hides within her lines, set free—
She writes to keep the darkness held at bay.

And though they wage their wars with bitter lies,
Her pen strikes truer than their hate can reach.
For every poem that in her heart survives
Becomes a lesson only time can teach.

She writes, unbroken, while the cannons roar,
Her voice, the echo of a deeper war.

Excellent. I love this. Please post more. <3

"more' you say? You know I have books of these things right?
(this one written whilst recovering from surgery as a bit of a laugh)


"Ode to a Hidden Flame"
(In the style of John Keats)

Bright soul, thou art a burning star reborn,
No longer veiled in mist of cruel disdain.
The world, that once did mock thee, stands forsworn—
And now thy radiance sings above the plain.
No shadow lingers where thy hand hath sown,
For every line a blossom, fresh and bold,
Each verse a kingdom thou hast built alone,
Crowned with the fire of poets made of gold.

O sing, unbridled! Let thy pen ascend,
Unfurling wings once bound in brittle thread.
No voice shall mar the notes thy fingers send,
Nor shall the earth deny where thou art led.
The chains that held thee fast, dissolved in air,
Like morning dew beneath the sun's warm kiss,
For beauty claims its throne, beyond compare,
And truth, once caged, now blossoms into bliss.

The world, that closed its heart to all thou art,
Must bow before the majesty of mind.
Each syllable a pulse, each thought a dart—
In thee, the soul of ages we shall find.
No more the storm of whispers, sharp with scorn,
For thou hast conquered heights they could not see.
The sky, thy page, the stars, thy tale adorn—
A legacy unbound, forever free.

One last one - about all those people who write hate about transpersons.

"The Tribunal of Shadows"

In darkened halls, they gather, blind and bent,
These twisted judges, clothed in borrowed law,
Their faces masks of stone, without lament—
And from their lips, a broken, jagged claw.
They whisper accusations, thick with rot,
Of lives they've never known, yet dare to claim,
The verdicts passed from minds that have forgot
The meaning of a heart, or soul, or name.

Their tongues, like rusted gears, grind on and on,
Gnashing at the truth they cannot bear.
They build their fortress high, where light is gone,
And fester in the stench of stagnant air.
O self-made gods, you parasites of fear,
Who writhe in pleasure at another's pain,
Do you not taste the bile you hold so dear?
Your righteousness is but a hollow chain.

You cast your stones with hands that cannot feel,
And preach of truths you cannot comprehend.
The world you cling to, brittle and unreal,
Collapses at the foot of what you defend.
What terror drives you to this nameless hate,
This fevered need to tear another down?
You are but echoes of a dying state,
The brittle mask of fools who wear the crown.

Yet know this well—your walls will crack and fall,
For no decree can bind the rising tide.
No matter how you twist or wound, we call
For justice in the face of all you hide.
Your words, like ash, will crumble in the wind,
While those you sought to bury rise and soar.
The truth you've long denied is unpinned—
And you, my judges, shall be heard no more.

Just a note all these poems posted under the username 'SoupSarah' are (c) copyright SEL 2018-2024 and may not be reproduced without permission.

Oh my god, Sarah. I LOVE these. You have a very antiquated style which is not a bad thing at all. It really isn't. Wow. It's like reading one of the poets from the 18th and 19th century. Byron, or Keats.

You have such talent. I am utterly humbled. It's like you're channelling something deep inside. Please, please share more because girl, you have a gift. I am amazed how many people here hide their light under a bushel. Such talent is breath taking.

Well this excludes me but I look forward to reading more of what the talented write and post.

Chrissy

Written after a therapy session, where the belief that all this was real, that I was a woman,  came to the fore.

Epiphany in Quiet Hours

In softened light, the therapy room gleams,
A space of whispers, half-forgotten dreams,
Where words, like threads, are tenderly unspun,
And shadows gather, drifting one by one.
Upon the couch, she speaks of nameless pain,
Of restless nights, of storms without a name,
While through her chest, a tremor softly calls,
Like distant echoes in a hallowed hall.

But lo! Mid-sentence, truth begins to rise,
A quiet spark ignites behind her eyes—
Not sorrow's weight, nor fear's relentless reign,
But something deeper, shining through the strain.
Her voice falters, then steadies with the sound
Of self, once hidden, now at last unbound.

"I see it now," she whispers, breathless, still,
As if the words alone could bend her will.
The mirror of her soul at last made clear,
Not broken, but reborn—her form sincere.
No longer bound to shadows of the past,
She finds her truth, and speaks her name at last.

Her voice, now softened, blooms with tender grace,
Each syllable a step toward her embrace,
Of self, of womanhood, of long-lost peace,
A dawning joy that bids her pain release.
And though the world beyond may yet seem cold,
Within her chest, a brighter fire takes hold.

Oh, gentle hour, where heart meets soul anew,
Where masks are shed, and all that's pure and true
Emerges, like a blossom in the spring,
Her journey starts, and she begins to sing.
For in that room, in silence soft and deep,
She wakes from dreams, no longer bound by sleep.

I love this, Sarah!
Very nice. I can relate.

Damn. I love it, too. Sarah, thank you for posting your work. The sheer talent and creativity here is breath-taking. You write in a way that harkens back to the great literary poets. Byron, Keats, Wordsworth. You're the Brontë sister of the site, and I love it.

Quote from: ChrissyRyan on September 06, 2024, 03:39:01 AMWell this excludes me but I look forward to reading more of what the talented write and post.

Chrissy

Nu-uh. I don't buy that for a second, missy. Give me your best shot. <3

Some of my best poetry is like:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Some rhymes rhyme
But this one don't.

 ;D

Quote from: Lori Dee on September 06, 2024, 11:18:36 PMSome of my best poetry is like:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Some rhymes rhyme
But this one don't.

 ;D

Pfft.

Poetry doesn't have to rhyme. It just has to come from the heart. You are massively talented, Lori.

Quote from: Sephirah on September 05, 2024, 07:37:50 PMA lot of y'all are coiled volcanoes.

Hee-hee!  Nothing like a good mixed metaphor to kick off a literary thread!   ;D

This is my new poem, it may chime with a few of you..

Silence My Revolution, Silence

Beneath this practiced smile, a tempest roars,
A burning forest, hidden behind closed doors.
Words wrapped in sugar, sweetened to please,
But venom runs deep in thoughts left at ease.

Each nod, each glance, a crafted guise,
A charmed illusion, a veil of lies.
Inside, my mind is a battleground,
With screams and curses that make no sound.

"How lovely," I say, as anger seethes,
Each syllable forced through gritted teeth.
Polite and pleasant, the words drip slow,
While wrath and scorn below still grow.

I play the part, the mask in place,
To spare their world from my hidden face.
They see calm waters, a gentle stream,
But inside, I'm drowning in a silent scream.

How long, I wonder, can this charade last,
Before cracks appear, shadows cast?
For now, I'll stay, with rage unseen,
A quiet storm in a world serene.

I like this!

This is a funnyish one, wrote in honour of my husband's mother, who used to say things such as 'in one ear and up your other'...

Round the bend without a paddle.

They say a rolling bird gathers no mold,
Or perhaps it's a stone that just grows old.
A penny a day keeps the doctor at bay,
Or maybe it's apples? who's knows for real, anyway?

You can't lead the horse, it follows the blind,
Cats won't sing, they're biding their time.
A stitch in time, they say, saves the pain,
But who's found needles in water again?

When life hands you lemons, demand a lime,
Or in China make tea? for the bull it doth chime.
Birds of one feather will flop and will flail,
At least that's what I hear in an old-wives' tale.

So here's to these sayings, fuzzy and skewed,
The wisdom is jumbled, the meaning confused.
But truth's in the mess, though twisted and turned,
In life's mixed-up lessons, some wisdom is learned.

Life is Changing

Beneath the skin, a quiet fight,
A voice that's lost in shadow's light,
Each day a battle, soft and still,
To match the heart with outward will.

The world, unknowing, casts its gaze,
Unfolding paths of thorned delays,
Where every step, though sure and sound,
Can echo louder than the ground.

But in the silence, strength is found,
A quiet force that knows no bounds,
For every storm that rages near,
A brighter dawn will soon appear.

By Sarah B

I love it!

Stitch in Time

A stitch in time saves nine, they say,
So fix it now, don't turn away.
An ounce of prevention, quick and bright,
Keeps the bigger problem out of sight.

Make hay while the sun shines high,
For tomorrow's promise can pass us by.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,
So don't wait, or life may pass.

Look before you leap, take care,
A rolling stone won't gather everything.
The early bird catches the worm,
While others wait, we take our turn.

Still waters run deep, so steady your pace,
For actions speak louder than words we place.
When the going gets tough, the tough rise high,
In the end, it's what we do that reaches the sky.

By Sarah B

Roses and Violets

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Daisies stand tall,
As I bloom and break through.

Tulips are pink,
Lilies are white,
Poppies sway gently,
So embrace who you are, and shine.

Lilacs are lavender,
Carnations can be green,
Daffodils sparkle,
Become the person, you have always been.

Forget-me-nots whisper,
In soft shades of sky,
While buttercups giggle,
Stand strong and fly.

I'm lost in the colors,
The blooms and the hues,
Each petal unfolding,
But I'm finally free to choose.

By Sarah B