I strip by the mirror, and mindlessly stare.
Defenseless -- as always, but now I'm aware.
The wind's never late; I have to keep steady.
    The cold of this world won't wait 'till you're ready.

I run to the shower. My favorite place.
The droplets are warm -- they run through my face,
My shoulders relax, the steam fills the air.
    The cold of this world won't bother me there...

Away from the wind, but not from my brain,
Which echoes my worries wherever I'm in.
Anxiety blossoms, and grows unrestrained.
    The cold of this world is born from within.

At last the world calls. Which facts will unfold?
Which one of my fears reality holds?
I'm not ready.
No one is.
I have to be bold.
    The cold of this world.
    I must face the cold.

So, I got fed up with waiting for the review and decided to just upload this book to archive.org.

This is a short-ish (80 pages) novel I wrote some time ago. It's quite different from the poems I've been sharing so far, but I hope you'll enjoy it as well. It was mostly born out of wanting to see more stories of (and by) trans women like me.

The story is called "The witches of Galree" and it's set in medieval times, where a famous sword fighter, who's going through a crisis despite having an objectively good life, meets a group of trans witches who learned how to create a feminizing potion. Our protagonist sees some hope of answering his existential questions by seeking advice with their leader, Julia, a wise but enigmatic woman, who agrees to help while warning that the path of self-discovery is never an easy one.

It should be noted that the characters suffer a fair amount of prejudice in the story, so this is not necessarily an easy read.

I cover my face before stepping outside,
And don't say a word, so my voice won't be pried.
I try to blend in, and pray they can't tell
-- As if I'm a thief who escaped from her cell.
My old mask was blue.
    I'm glad that it fell.
My new mask is pink.
    I still need to hide.

From closet to stealth
Does no good to your health.
For people like me, this country looks bleak;
If others could see, they'd just see a freak.
My new mask is pink.
    It does make me think.
My old mask was blue.
    What else could I do?

One day they won't tell just by looking at me,
But that doesn't mean that I'm finally free.
My new mask will then be etched to my face:
They'll give me a past that never took place.
My old mask was blue.
    A terrible guise.
My new mask is pink.
    The mask is in their eyes.

-- Lady Scarecrow

cross-posted from: https://lemmy.blahaj.zone/post/12099240

I can't help but think at night
Of that which never was, but might.

I've faced the demons deep inside
And found the answers that they hide.
But if I'd known it all back then,
Just think how much it could've changed...

It took so long to find the way
That most are trailing every day,
And now they seem so far ahead.
I miss the past I've never had,
Where all I took so long to see
Were always clear, and I'd be free.

How can I catch up with the rest?
How can I make up for the past?
Is it too late to change my fate?
Have I missed the train of luck?
Has life gone by while I was stuck?

-- Lady Scarecrow

I can't help but think at night
Of that which never was, but might.

I've faced the demons deep inside
And found the answers that they hide.
But if I'd known it all back then,
Just think how much it could've changed...

It took so long to find the way
That most are trailing every day,
And now they seem so far ahead.
I miss the past I've never had,
Where all I took so long to see
Were always clear, and I'd be free.

How can I catch up with the rest?
How can I make up for the past?
Is it too late to change my fate?
Have I missed the train of luck?
Has life gone by while I was stuck?

-- Lady Scarecrow

    Question

A question fills my head.
Were I a girl instead
-- Same book, but different cover --
Would you become my lover?
Or would we still be friends?

Now, I ask: don't get me wrong.
I love our friendship, and it's strong.
I love it when I make you smile,
Even for a little while.
I love it when I'm at your side.
Our conversations make my day.
And nothing makes me feel more pride
Than impressing you some way.

Now, I wonder: can you tell?
How you make me feel so well?
That this smile is just for you?
And if you knew, then what you'd do?

Now, I know that you are straight.
And we're both guys, so we won't date.
So a question fills my head.
Were I a girl instead...

Note: I wrote this poem before realizing I'm a trans woman, which is why I'm calling myself a guy in there, but I'm absolutely not one. I have since learned that gender isn't just a matter of a "different cover" -- it's definitely part of the book.

-- Lady Scarecrow

I don't know why I keep this mask.
It doesn't fit me -- it never has.
And now I've figured out this mess,
It seems to fit me even less.
I would much rather wear a dress...

But where I'm from, the risk's too high.
When I still look like a guy
(In many ways -- I hate them all),
If I step outside the door
With these clothes that I adore,
What sort of danger would I call?

But I can't waste my life away
And live a lie until the day
I'll get to look a certain way.

In the end, it's up to me
To find the courage that I need
And be the girl I wish to be.

-- Lady Scarecrow

    Like a girl

From the beginning, girls and boys
Are raised in wildly different ways:
We're meant to play with different toys,
We're shamed or praised for equal traits.

Though I've been groomed to be a man,
Deep down, our nature can't be changed.
They hope I'm careless and brave,
                and aggressive and bold,
                and well-spoken and suave,
                and detached, even cold.

But I'm sensitive and frail.
I'm not an alpha male.
Whenever I try it, I hopelessly fail.

Girls have plenty they can wear
Cute or stylish -- it's all there!
A fine dress, and heads are turned;
A cute skirt, their frown's adjourned.
The gray manhood can't compare,
And it frankly isn't fair...

I can't think of a plan
For what's bound to unfurl.
They're expecting a man,
Yet I think like a girl.

Note: I've written this poem before realizing I'm a trans woman. I have since learned there's nothing wrong with manhood -- the problem was that I'm not a man, myself.

-- Lady Scarecrow

I'm not sure if this is the right place to ask, but here goes.
If I add spaces to the beginning of a line,

the text is rendered like this.

Is there a way to have actual spaces in the beginning of a line?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Do I see myself at all?

Why's this beard so thick and vast
In my image that you cast?
Why's there so much body hair?
And the breasts that I should bear?
And these arms so far from slender?
Where's the sight of my true gender?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
What I've seen has made me crawl.

All I wish you'd show to me
Is the woman I can't see.
Not the fairest of them all,
For whom anyone would fall,
Nor a pretty one, indeed.
Just a woman's all I plead.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
I can't blame you, after all.
You're a physical device
Meant to show what's in their eyes.

Mirror, mirror on the wall.
You can't hear me as I call.
But I'll ask you anyway:
Will you show myself one day?

-- Lady Scarecrow

When I was born, so was a ghost.
When anyone would look at me,
It was the ghost they'd really see.

I was a child, and couldn't tell.
I thought I was that ghost as well.
But, slowly, truth would start to show.
And when at last I let them know...

...They turned their heads and sought the ghost.
The ghost was all they wished to see.
The ghost was who they loved the most.
The ghost of who they thought me to be.

It's been so long, and still they yearn
What's only lived inside their minds.
I wonder if they'll ever learn
That while they seek what none can find,
And fail to let me into their hearts,
We both end hurt, and drift apart.

-- Lady Scarecrow

The wait

Now I finally see
There's a woman in me.

And the void in my heart
That would never depart,
And the pain that would start
Without reason at sight
-- All's explained, and alright.
And the future looks bright.

But, for now, that's my fate:
I must keep it inside.
My most beautiful side,
Which has blossomed so late,
I'm now struggling to hide.
For how long must I wait?

To be me,
To be free,
To pursuit my own glee?
Oh, how long will it be?

The path that lies ahead
Is harsh and filled with dread,
But my resolve won't wane:
I'd gladly rush, instead.
But life's forced me to refrain
And waste this time I won't regain.

Will this new life compensate
All the time I'll have to wait?

-- Lady Scarecrow