Many People

There are many people

who love me.

And many people

who actively don’t love me.

Who hate me.

I’m a transexual woman.

Loud and proud.

Many people,

hetero and queer,

don’t like me and

my loud and proud way.

I honestly spend a lot

of time thinking about

these people.

What if I could do enough

kind things?

Maybe then these people

would love me.

At least appreciate and

respect me.

But I know that won’t be

the case for many of

these people.

What if I love more and more

and more?

I can love quite a bit bigger

than lots of people.

But maybe I should spend

more time

caring about the many people

who love me.

The people who love me

just as I am.

The Bullrider

Lil was a champion rodeo

bullrider.

She was handsome.

Chiseled jaw.

Sharp Nordic features.

Short cropped shining

bright blonde hair.

A weathered, smile with

pronounced lines

that could warm any

room or person.

She smiled, laughed,

and cut up a lot.

I liked that.

I saw her and she saw me,

my dark eyes,

over-mascaraed.

She was gritty and tough

but her heart was light

and loving.

She watched me all night

in my frilly green silky

dress and wanted me.

She knew I was a transwoman

and didn’t care.

In fact, somehow that made me

very lovely to her.

A femme and floppy,

gay as all hell transwoman.

When the dance hall closed

she approached me.

I saw her belt buckle and

her strong legs in cowboy jeans.

She asked me with a nod and

her eyes and so I let her take me

and lead me outside.

We walked 50 paces in the cold

Colorado spring night air,

then we came to her travel trailer.

Her hand had been strong but

gentle on my hips

the whole walk there.

At the door to the trailer,

she said, “Can I babe?”,

then she tilted back my pink hair

and kissed me strong but soft

and sensual.

I lost my breath and wanted more.

I put my hand on her chest

and asked her to take me inside.

In the soft shining warm lamp

light I dropped to my knees,

on old linoleum floor.

My dress split and I kissed her

thighs in jeans, clutching her

bullrider’s ass.

She unbuckled and I saw what

was pristine.

So I made love to her with my

mouth.

Silky, wet, strong.

I made her tumble.

I made her gasp.

She clutched my hair.

She said, “I’ll cum on you

if you cum on me”.

And I replied, “Hell yes”,

all moany.

She buckled over, spasming.

Then one minute later

she threw me on the couch

and humped me til I was a mess

and I was screaming and I

was screaming

with my lovely bullrider a top me.

I forgot my body.

I forgot my mind.

So I leaned in and kissed her

very very deep.

Two women softly humping

at that point.

Moaning and panting.

Yes,

we are proud women.

We are proud women.

A Handy Dyke

A handy dyke
is a joy for a femme.
It doesn’t matter if that
handy dyke
is butch, chapstick,
femme herself
or whatever else.
She, this handy dyke,
relieves something for
the lone femme
that the lone femme is unable
to do, live, or achieve herself.
That is why she’s handy.
The handy dyke can do
what the femme cannot.

The Coven

The coven of druidesses
in an Appalachian forest
prayed for me
in the common tongue
to the woods.
There is something
gathering for me,
around me, within me
so I can take this gathering
and give immensely
to the world,
give love,
give love mostly,
that is what’s most needed.
And…
the full moon brought her,
my gorgeous blue eyed,
tall, long and lean woman.
She cums upon me
on this big night of big sky.
Cuz the druidesses knew
I need love in order to
love more.
Love love more!
That is what our work is for.
For all of us to love more.