Dreams of my soul,
drawing me closer to HaShem.
To be an honorable Jew,
my heartfelt desire.
Shavuot, the giving of Torah
somehow I feel, so very deep inside,
I too stood at the base
of Sinai, as the ground trembled.
Klal Yisrasel, as Ruth said to Naomi,
“Your people shall be my people”
Words so powerful, meaningful,
they ring so true to me.
Sometimes fear or despair strike me so intensely,
I hide in my room for days, weeks, months.
Shul seems scary, but HaShem,
the congregation, the rabbi, have not left me.
Here I know I have a home,
whether I feel courageous enough to come
that day or not.
Acceptance I find, compassion and care.
Here I belong, though my journey
may have some detours on its route.
For me, a joyous time to come, the mikveh, bet din,
though extended my travels, I will get there.
My story, a poem, you may love it, or hate it.
Hopefully, though, the uniqueness of a plea for help in verse cannot be debated.
Throughout my life, so depressed I’ve been my very soul has ached,
Or been utterly in terror for months at a time, my whole body has quaked.
Afraid of near everything, too pained to exist,
More than one time, in the past I made the decision to quit.
Pull the eject handle, try to open the escape hatch,
On multiple occasions, from my life I tried to detach.
Living with autism, being gay and transgender,
Can be too much to handle, to shrouds my spirit it does render.
I’ve come so far, with the help of supports and starting my transition,
From the days it was expected I’d live in an institution.
I received with highest honors a bachelor’s degree in psychology,
However I still cannot work, and continue to receive disability.
I do give back, the best that I can,
I speak about trans* issues at my alma mater and,
Help distribute condoms with AIDS Service Organizations,
As well as participate in advocacy for funding for mental health, LGBT issues,
HIV/AIDS, and related legislation.
As you can well see, I enjoy writing poems,
I dream of writing a collection, becoming published, giving back to those
communities which are my homes.
I don’t desire wealth, only to be able to give to others as they have given to me.
I’m happy with what I have, just desperate for surgery, to be the real me.
That alone is enough, the one thing in life I desire to “buy”.
To feel whole: physically, emotionally, and spiritually complete as a guy.
I despise feeling trapped, my body still a source of betrayal.
I know there are risks, no guarantee of perfection, but with that I’m okay.
Rather, would I, be closer to appearing as if a cisgender male.
Than be stuck with body parts that make my entire being wail.
I have the support, am acquiring the funds, know to which surgeon I want to go.
Lost over 115 pounds, to a reasonable weight so for surgery healthy will be the
I’m ready for this step, the intense emotions, the changes, the pain.
I realize there are things to be lost, but I have so much more to gain.
Simply put, it is just too terrible to go on with my body the same.
Heartbroken, my reality of a life without hope of change, not merely a name.
I ask you please, consider my potential, my future.
Did these words touch your heart, do I have talent to nurture?
Will I add to the voices of LGBTQ+ writers?
Help give me a chance, help me fix by body…
– An Artist
Please visit my GoFundMe at http://gofund.me/EthansDream
Bright sun warming the cat’s furry body,
while she sits relaxed in the window on a winter’s morn.
Lemon, tangy, tart, filled with sour, pucker inducing juice,
growing larger each day on the tree that inspired its birth.
Sunflowers, petals bright and bold,
growing wildly along the roadside,
ready to release a plethora of delicious seeds for the wild animals.
These are the things that are yellow.
Protuberant pumpkin basking in the autumn sun.
Traffic cone standing precariously on the edge of a pothole,
causing erratic drivers to dodge its pointy entity at the last minute.
Leaves, crisp, fragrant,
clinging to tree branches for a few last days in the fall,
before tumbling dramatically in a dance of beauty,
and landing in layers upon frosty ground.
Carrots, crunchy, nutritious,
enjoyed by children, adults, and horses alike.
Candle flames, licking up a wick,
lighting the Shabbat table,
welcoming in the Sabbath for all.
These are the things that are orange.
Poignant rose petals formed from buds,
growing on thorny stems in garden rows.
Blood, flowing freely from fingertips pricked.
Juicy berries, ripening sweet in the June sun,
dripping stickiness down my chin.
A fire engine, roaring through town at high speed,
siren wailing a sound of warning.
Stripes, alternating with white, a blue patch surrounding white stars,
symbolic of American freedoms and history.
Tomato soup, thick, rich, creamy and salty,
paired with a buttery, crisp grilled cheese sandwich for dunking.
Ladybugs’ round bodies, filled with black spots,
bringing luck to he or she whom the insect lands on this hot summer night.
These are the things that are red.
through the center of each sphere.
Entities of roundness,
Examples of soundness.
Handling your smoothness,
I wipe away my fear.
Over a strand, through each hole,
each spherical thing slides.
In this simple task,
my heart, my soul, confides.
A true healing art.