Therisa Godwaldt

End of an era

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This morning, a part of myself, died. As I awoken to the news that Gord Downie had passed away from glioblastoma (brain cancer), at the age of 53. Just 6 years older than I am. Upon hearing this, I broke down and cried for several minutes, holding Venus, my oldest Queen, to my chest. One way or another, the Tragically Hip have been part of my life, since 1991, when my then roommate introduce me to them, as we were both students at Carleton University, in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. Just before they released Fully Completely. Hard to believe 26 years have passed since then.

A fair but honest beta reader wanted

Over the past month, I have been experiencing a brief opening in my prolong bout of depression of the past ten months. In that I have written four new poems and 18,000 words in a new and very dark project, which I have written two full chapters and working on the third one.

Patchwork Girl Part Four of Four

A few false steps
In finding Ellie's grave
Appreciating the personal space
Of a few moments alone
Before joining me.

Placing your hands
On my shoulders
In support and love.

Silently
We stand.

My mind
Reruns that fateful night
Tears running down
My cheeks.

Taking the patchwork doll
Holding it
Against my lips.

Tenderly
Kissing it goodbye
Placing the doll
On the grave.

Historical Moment for Cda

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A historic moment, as Canada enters the 21st century with the federal government announcing it's introducing gender neutral passports for its citizens like Australia and New Zealand does, with the holder being able to select male, female, or 'x' for other as their gender selection. Replacing the old passport policy, which a transperson could only get a temporary passport in their chosen gender, if they were to have SRS done within a two year period and needed a doctor's note to accompany it, stating this. The new passport policy comes into effect August 31, 2017.

Patchwork Girl Part Three of Four

By Therisa Godwaldt

© 2008 Therisa Godwaldt

All rights Reserved

An angry feminine voice
Jars me
Back to the present.

My eyes
Bleary from crying
Realizing
It was your mom.

Hastily
Wiping my eyes dry
Turn to face her.

Knew
She was talking
But didn't understand
Her.

Slowly
Her words penetrated
My mental fog.

Judging
From her voice's pitch
She has been yelling at me
For a while.

"James Robert McLeod!"

Patchwork Girl (Part Two of Four)

Reaching up
I grasp the patchwork doll
Within my hand.

Noticing
For the first time
As I turn it over
Various repair jobs.

From her mom's strong
And confident stitching
To Ellie's loose
And inexperienced stitching.

Tears
Run down my cheeks
Streaks of black mascara
Marring my face
Before landing on the doll.

Remembering
Your final hours
How you needed
Everything to be
Your way.

Requiem For A Lost Child

Forty years ago
A child was born
Into this world.

Perfect
In all ways
With ten fingers
And toes.

No visible signs
Of a birth defect
Except one.

Only known
To the child.

Not a defect
As society understands
But a greater truth.

That burns
With the intensity
Of a white-hot flame.

Removing all doubt
In the child's mind.

She takes small steps
Within the safety
And privacy
Of the bathroom.

Letter To My Depression

Hello
Old friend
Been awhile
Since our last meeting.

Not sure
Why I'm calling you
A friend.

Given
Our very destructive
Relationship
Over the years.

Which
More often
Then not
Have seen me
Trying to end
My life.

You realize
I am so tired
Of your presence
In my life.

Turning
My life
Upside down.

May surprise you
And accept your offer.

Just
To shut you
Up.

The Doll...Part 5 of 6

By Therisa Godwaldt

© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt

All rights Reserved

A quick knock
On Stacey/Stuart’s bedroom door
Was greeted by
A hurried
“Just one moment please”.

“It’s ok Stacey
You do not have hide
Anymore”
Jane told her
Through the closed door.

Slowly
The door open
A half dressed Stacey
Looked out.

Not sure
If she had heard right
From her big sister.

“You heard right Stacey
From me.”

Jane rushed forward
Crushing Stacey
In a fierce hug.

The Doll...Part 3 of 6

By Therisa Godwaldt

© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt

All rights Reserved

A month had since
That fateful afternoon
And Jane still did not know
How to handle this situation
With Stuart.

If she went to mom
There would be trouble
For all of them
Should dad find out
About Stuart’s crossdressing.

The divorce
Was painful enough
Without additional pain
For all involved.

For several weeks
Stuart refused
Any contact with dad.

Feeling
He was responsible
For the divorce.

The Doll...Part 2 of 6

By Therisa Godwaldt

© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt

All rights Reserved

Two weeks
Since the last time
Stacey had dressed up.

Freely walking
Around the house
As herself
And not
The hated Stuart.

Promising herself
To be more careful
In tidying up
And putting away
Her clothes.

Before someone saw her
Specifically Jane.

Unbeknown to Stacey
Jane has installed
A small camera
Among her doll collection.

Men, I honour

So easy
To give in
To hate.

In letting
Anger rule me
Against all men.

Given
Most of my abusers/bullies
Were born
Of this gender.

And yet
Tomorrow is
Father's Day.

As I honour
My opa* and dad.

Two men
Who's love
Have helped me.

And shoulders
I have cried
Upon.

Willing to do
Almost anything
To protect me.

Whose deaths
Have marked
Transitional moments
In my life.

A Work, In Progress...Part 1

By Therisa Godwaldt

© 2014 and 2017 Therisa Godwaldt

All rights Reserved

Stigma Of Survival

Silence
The chain
That binds truth
In lies.

Of the horrors
Committed
In the name of love
And punishment.

Twisting the light
Into a dark parody
Where reality loses
All meaning
Except for pain.

Molding one's soul
Like clay
On a potter's wheel
With deft hands.

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