A Poem by Abigale LeCavalier



as peeking around corners,

gripping at the straws

in a strangers

scotch and water.


Being thoroughly dissolved

in the wrong skin,

the wrong body,

the wrong frame of mind,



And yet

there is no forgoing

the transition,

whatever that may be.


In or out

of the cemetery.


It’s the struggle

that bites,

the cold breath

of winter.


Or the burning words

spoken by children

pulled quickly

down a road,

hand in hand

of a concerned father.


And finding comfort

in that desperation,

is almost as pathetic.


Endlessly hoping,

for a quick

return to dirt.


Or a rebirth

in water or sky.

© 2010 Abigale LeCavalier

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on January 25, 2010
Last Updated on August 30, 2010
Tags: women, trans, tgirl, transgender, transsexual, MTF, FTM, GLBT, LGBT, queer, gay, transition, poetry, poem, real life, bi, gay pride, Abigale Lecavalier, Abby LeCavalier