Verse, Poetry, Lyric

New Life

A bright light in the sky,
Growing weak and now gone.

The light has shone, giving brightness and hope to all who has seen it.
Many has wept, some are still weeping,
over the loss of the light.

As mourning,grieving and rememberance goes on,
new life springs forth like a seed opening up and sprouting.

As remnants of the light remain in those who have seen and experienced the light, the light within will grow and bear fruit.

Painful tears

A girl gets told off, multiple times in a day.
Was the telling off necessary? Or was it a unnecessary action on the part of the teller?
Nobody knows,except for the teller and the girl being told off.
The girl walked silently onwards, keeping a neutral face while crying on the inside.
Didn’t she tell the teller about what she was going through? Why was the teller still telling her off?
The girl’s heart was breaking but her will, albeit a weak one, kept on healing her heart when she got injured.

Who Will Buy?

Who Will Buy
by Kristine Roland

This little song parody is about the feeling I had when I recently did a makeover photo shoot, and saw myself in the mirror for the first time, truly seeing me.

Who will buy this wonderful feeling?
Such an image I never have seen
Who will tie it up with a ribbon?
And put it in a box for me

I'm Glued

I’m glued

(with apologies to Eiffel 65)

Yo listen up
Here’s the story
About a little guy
That lives in a glue world
And all day and all night
Everything he sees is
Just glued
To him inside, and outside
Glued in a dress
Glued to some high heels too
And glued to a corset
And everything is glued
Including his breasts
And he sings to himself
Cause he aint got nobody to listen ..

(chorus)

“I’m glued ...

Glue Me Sunday

Against her better judgement LAIKA PUPKINO presents::
GLUE ME SUNDAY
(Andrea made me do it!)
Sunday you glued me into a red rubber dress
Dearest the stuff just won't let me undressed
Little white panties to forever arouse you
I wanted black ones you degenerate louse you

“Angel” you told me, “I've still got some more Gloo!
Would you be angry if I thought of joining you
Glue me Sunday

No more waiting, oh.

No more waiting, oh

Parody of "What you waiting for" by Gwen Stefani which can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5qICl3Fr3w

I know it’s finally time
Time for all to see
Too many years gone by
Now I have to be free ...

(Tick-tock, tick tock, tick- tock ..)

Since I was born,
mistaken for a boy
Internal conversations,
How much could I take?

What if they say I’m a sinner ?

Workday Woes

Dot made an idle comment while chatting tonight, and this silly little bit of verse was the result.

"SPLAT!" goes the body clock.
It's time to roll and rock.
I'd rather stay in bed
And calm my aching head
But life won't let me go,
Such misery I know!

Christmas Ballerina

In the living room
Underneath the beautiful tree
In the pale glow of the late Christmas afternoon turned night
My brother is wearing a tutu

He squeals and leaps
As he stretches at the barre we got him
The joy from the morning pasted on his face
Fourteen years old
But a little girl still

His beauty is pure
His excitement over his gifts true
His wig, a shield from those who would intrude
His Sephora gift card, a weapon
No goddess ever better armed

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.

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!"

The End

Hello everyone,

I'm new as an author on here. This is a rather personal story/ poem, but it fits into the TG context.

I'm working on an actual series, but as a slow writer it will take some time for that.

I still hope you can enjoy reading this here.

Best wishes,

Filas

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.

An Ode to 'Bike'

An Ode to 'Bike', the first 10 years


I’d rather be Riding my bicycle
My bicycle made for two
With bells and rings and things on
But a trusty read that always delivers
What it says on the tin

Through thick and thin
Wet and Dry
Another episode comes along
And then two or three more just like busses
But it always delivers
What it says on the tin

Angharad you are a trooper
Sooper dooper
And that is a fact
But the tales go on
And it always delivers
What it says on the tin

I Gave My Heart

Here is another of my poems, it mentions aspects of BDSM briefly a few times, but there is nothing explicit in the poem itself. This poem was written in a free form style, I generally don't do free form poetry often, but that style fits this piece perfectly.

If you're not into BDSM, simply disregard those little bits and read it as it is, a description of a relationship that went wrong and then failed.

Sadly, I had bad luck with the relationship after the one described here, for the exact same reasons, with the exact same result.

The Voice Within

I managed to find some of my poetry pieces, I wrote this one while reflecting on how depression, etc., can affect people.

**********

The Voice Within

I walked alone in a garden,
When my life seemed so drear and dark;
I could not see the flowers there
Or hear the sweet song of the lark.

I wandered here, then wandered there,
Looking for a way to the light;
I knew not where I went nor why,
Just that life seemed eternal night.

Reflections

I thought of you today.
As my day began.

I thought of you sitting in your playhouse
Sipping your lemonade
Hair flowing freely
Dimpled cheeks, freckles, crooked smile and all.
Laughing freely as you played house with your dollies
All while twirling about in your silky yellow sundress and Mary Janes.

I thought of you today.
As my day began.

Wounded Child

“Mama…”

She doesn’t say the words, but you still hear them: “not now, sweetie. Mama’s busy.”

You know better than to reach out for her. Your hands are already stinging. Better to keep them by your side where they can’t annoy anybody.

Still, the need aches at you.

“I told you, I’m busy,” she doesn’t say.

You try to be a good girl and pull away, but your heart doesn’t listen; it still reaches out despite knowing it’s not allowed.

The yelling gets louder. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I was busy. Stop being a bother.”

When I Grow Up

They told me
I could be
Anything I wanted
Asked me what
I meant to be
When I grew up
When I told them
"I want to be a mommy!"
They changed their tune
"You can't be a mommy
You can only be a daddy!"
My life could be
A consolation prize
And then they wonder
Why I don't know me

A Collection of My Poetry

Author's note: The poems presented below are the copyrighted works of Ronald Heyward Bailey, Junior, known here on Big Closet under the pseudonym of Haylee V. If you have found them on any sites other than poetry.com (now lulu.com) or here, then you are reading pirated copies.

For Marcus
(c) 2001

Too many nights of eating cold Taco Bell burritos
And getting drunk off of cheap wine and tequila & coke

Turn to Girl

Author's Note: These alternate song lyrics just came to me and I had to share. They're too good not to share. I hope at least some of you enjoy this as much as I do.

Turn to Girl
by Terry Volkirch

(sung to the tune of Turn to Stone by ELO)

An older, somewhat brittle man
(Still young at heart and full of life)
I stay in shape because I can (yearning, yearning)

Strange magic hit my body good
(Turned me into someone new)
And in my room my body stood
In my pink world

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