I used to have an outie, and now I have an innie! March 19th, 2024, what most people know as Taco Tuesday had an entirely different meaning for me as Taco Tuesday. It is 6am and I am at the UNC Hospital in Hillsborough. I have checked in for my procedure, had my vitals taken and signed all the paperwork I needed to sign. I have met my surgical team, been asked a hundred questions. I have texted my family and friends and my friend who is staying with me while I recover has the important numbers to call to let people know I am ok. We are just waiting on the surgeon at this point. He is there by 7am and I am being wheeled off and I don’t remember a thing until almost 6 hours later when I wake up in recovery.

I was born a boy. Thats what everyone told me. Thats the anatomy I had. That was my life. It was a life filled with chaos and confusion. It was a life pretending to be a boy, trying to survive this world because back then in the 80’s and 90’s people did not understand people like me. So, for my whole life I wore a mask, I was an actor playing the role everyone wanted to see me in. A boy, a man, a father.

It was a life filled with showering in the dark, hating my own anatomy to the point I would wish for bad things to happen to it. It was a life plotting out how long it would take to bleed out if I cut it off and if I made the call to 911, waited ‘x’ amount of minutes before cutting it off and flushing it down the toilet so it can’t be reattached, I would make it to the hospital in time to survive and I wouldn’t have to worry about thing between my legs anymore. Years of uti’s because I could not bring myself to touch it unless I was self-harming it. Years of self-harm and attempts at unaliving myself because I hated my body so much. Depression and anxiety. Panic and C-PTSD. This was my life. Constant emotional pain. Physical disgust. I would smile for you, but the eyes betrayed me every single time.

Finally in 2018 after so much self-abuse and a breakdown, I transitioned. What followed was varying levels of happiness but more pain because of how society treats me. But milestone after milestone led me to March 19th, 2024. Fighting and suing my employer for health insurance coverage and here we were, the big day. A 5.5-hour surgery where my genitals and pelvic floor were going to be rearranged into a beautiful vulva.

I awoke to my friend with me and the nurses hovering over me. Everything went swimmingly. I know I was still pumped full of pain meds but as they wore off, I never felt pain, only happiness. A surgeon healed me where anti-depressants and therapy could only put band aids on my mental pain. Today I get to joke that now I only have regular people problems in my life, and I have to say I would take this any day of the week. Finally, not only does my body look and feel like it should. But my soul is healed. March 19th, 2024, my life was saved and I finally found happiness in myself. It is the day that I will remember for the rest of my life. That sense of finally being whole, of being complete, of being me, nothing will ever compare to that. In the few short months since that day, I have already forgotten a lot about what that anatomy felt like, I am only left with the memories of pain which are far outweighed by the happiness I experience every single day now.

Life may throw challenges at me still. There may be times of stress, grief, or anguish, but all I have to do is remember that day to know that I can accomplish anything.

In the midafternoon on a hot July day,
The call came in, he was on his way.
A month premature, he just couldn’t wait,
To meet all his family, regardless of date.

“He’s coming soon, I need you, Mom.”
My girl groaned and she panted, with pain overcome.
“Of course I will be there, to help and support.
As long as required, the time long or short.”

The drive never-ending, I was cautious and tense,
My thoughts whirring madly, with worry, suspense.
The hours swallowed up in anticipation,
Of meeting my grandson, God’s newest creation.

While still en route, my phone gave a whine,
The wee lad was here, Mom and babe doing fine.
“I can’t wait to meet him, the dear little boy,
To add to our family, a bundle of joy.”

Adherence to rules in the NICU was firm,
No visitors yet, no risking the germs.
I embraced Mom and Dad, sadly turned away,
I would wait to return another day.

Disappointment was lurking, but soon dismissed,
When I picked up my granddaughter, now a big sis.
Excitement, elation, and pride overflowing,
“I’m a sister, Gran!” Her bright eyes were glowing.

The time passed by quickly, we sang silly songs,
Told stories, drew pictures, the bonding was strong.
Her five-year-old giggles, so blissfully sweet,
Making quality memories, Gran’s joy near complete.

And then came the summons, the much-waited call,
We entered the NICU, we walked down the hall.
Met by a chorus of pumping machines,
Monitors beeping with bright glowing screens.

Other babies were crying, in colic distress,
Inconsolable feelings, the need to express.
Nurturing caregivers attempting to calm,
To comfort and soothe them, to offer aplomb.

Now there is our Benjamin, beloved prince,
Sleeping so soundly, contentment evinced.
Tubes, wires, and monitors tracking his pace,
I picked him up gingerly, gazed at his face.

Ten tiny fingers and ten teeny toes,
His velvety head, and a bitty snub nose.
Chest rising and falling the breaths coming quick,
Pacified cooing, a weak little kick.

“Hi, Benny Boy, my cute little bro,”
She whispered so gently, her face all aglow.
“I’m your big sister, I’ll teach you so much,”
There was evident love in her look and her touch.

A nurse breezed through the door, glad news to foretell,
“Two more days, or tomorrow, if all is well,
You can take your boy home, escape from this place,
We’ll miss this sweet fellow, serene little face.”

We woke up next morning, got straight to our chores,
Tidied the bedrooms, and bathrooms and floors.
Baked special treats for Mommy and Dad,
Gran and her girlie, what fun we had!

We made ourselves pretty, prepared for the meeting,
Crafted a sign, a creative greeting.
Little Miss Harper, with nose pushed to glass,
Watching and waiting rewarded at last.

“They’re here, they’re here! Yippee, yippee!”
She raced to the door, shrieking with glee.
She slowed her step and softened her tone,
“Oh dear little brother, welcome home.”

Tears came to my eyes, watching the sight,
My two precious grandkids, my heart, my delight.
I cuddled them closely, both baby and sis,
And cherished the moment, a grandmother’s bliss.

Dear reader,

It was July in Orlando, Florida. The summer was at a peak, and my family was spending the day as it’s meant to be spent during this wonderfully torrid time of year–in water. Give me a reason to leave my vacation responder on to go floating off in an aquamarine pool somewhere, and we have ourselves the making of a great day. You see, we would be splashing around in one of Orlando’s premier water parks, Volcano Bay. I’d been anticipating this trip for a while now, and it was finally here.

We packed our belongings, crowded into the car, and made our way to the park. After missing an exit, finally finding the entrance, parking, getting on a bus, and navigating past check-ins, we were finally in.

Shortly after entering, if you walk a little ways forward and then look to the center of the park, you’ll see the steaming volcano that towers high above all the attractions. It houses the most formidable slide in the park–the Ko’okiri Body Plunge. This 70-degree,125-foot drop sends you into a fall that is wildly uncomfortable, yet at the same time, equally thrilling. I’d conquered it the year before by my lonesome, but this time, I had company in my two brothers. We used our wristbands to reserve our spots in the digital line and spent the day exploring the many adventures of the park.

My family and I had a blast rushing through the rapid river in our life jackets, winding through bright-colored slides in our water tubes, and tasting the delectable delights that the Whakawaiwai Eats offered us in pizza, hot dogs, and my personal favorite, jerk shrimp mac and cheese. I spent the day glancing at my band that gave an hours-long countdown, until the alert finally told me it was time to march up the volcano.

We ran pretty much the entire way up the unending flights of steps. After getting a little workout in that left me breathless at the top, I was just grateful to be there, dear reader–heavy breathing, hair frizzing and all.

As I moved closer to the front of the line and watched others nervously climb into the shuttle to launch into a multi-story descent, I became nervous. And when my brothers and I were finally next, my stomach was fluttering uncontrollably with butterflies. I thought about turning back, but in the midst of this anxiousness, I also couldn’t help but be excited.

When it was finally my turn, I stepped up to climb into the shuttle, stood with my feet criss-crossed in front of one another and my arms in a similar position, Black Panther style. I could see the people in the wave pool below me who were smaller now. The height was higher than it looked from the bottom, and even though I was a long way from the beginning of those steps when I first climbed up, I kind of wanted to go back to them.

But instead, I closed my eyes and yelled a “Whoo! Come on!” while waiting to drop. I heard the sound of drums from somewhere inside the shuttle, and as they increased in speed to build anticipation, my heart was pumping. I leaned further back against the slide and the stream of downward rushing water as I waited for the drop door to open underneath me in what felt like an eternity. Suddenly I felt the ground give way, and then I dropped.

The fall felt as terrible as you can imagine and came to an end just as it grew too intense. I felt myself plateau and the butterflies disappear, and in a matter of seconds, the feeling of the pool water rushing to my feet at the end of the slide told me it was over. It was done. I could enjoy the rest of my day.

I opened my eyes to the sight of crystal teal water glittering in the sunshine, and saw my family waiting for me and cheering me on. After brushing myself off from the adrenaline and exclaiming how crazy the ride down was, I joined them. Not long after, I saw my little brother come down the slide after me, then my older brother after that. It felt good to cheer them both on.

The feeling I had was unmatched for the rest of the trip. My favorite memory of 2024 wasn’t just conquering a slide I was afraid of, but doing it with people I love. Because it was great passing the finish line myself the year before, but even greater to see my brothers cross it with me this time around.

Turns out reaching new heights, or in this case, new depths, is that much sweeter with company.

Always learning,
Danielle

With you
at the edge,
toes in the water,
hands clasped.
The sun passes behind
the clouds.
I nuzzle you.

This is before.
Before my mouth has
known yours.
Before we held each other
naked in my lavender sheets.

The wind picks up
And I slide my feet between
yours.
I don’t feel cold in your
arms.
You lean in and
this won’t be the
last time our lips
meet.

The ducks inch around us.
People pass on their runs,
out to play basketball,
to take pictures in the
golden hour.

But we don’t see them.
All we know is the inches
of lips, the curl of
your cupid’s bow. The edge of
my tongue.
The way we can know eachother, like this.
Just here, with you.
Before.

Celebrating the smaller pieces of greater accomplishments can seem, in word, trivial. It is not the veritable light at the end of the tunnel, nor is it the very first step in the series of events leading to great aspirations. It is a comfortable middle ground that has been treaded on, and while it can seem mundane, the progress here is vital.
I have always challenged myself to grow, whether it be academically, emotionally, mentally, or physically… the list can go on indefinitely. The fact is, I crave personal enrichment. I am currently completing my undergraduate bachelor’s degree a bit “later” in life at 42 years old. I often mentally ridicule myself for not having had a clearer professional path when I was younger. I had my three children shortly after graduating high school and therefore directed my energies into raising them into the incredible young adults that they are. It is only now that I know exactly what I want to reach for, which is a career in grant and proposal writing. It is a unique niche that allows me to flex my writing skills while helping connect clients with communities, encouraging fellowship and growth.
Reaching beyond my known capabilities, I tackled a course this semester that pushed, pulled, tripped, mocked, and rattled me. It was an art course, of which I know nothing about, and my pursuance of it was both a necessity for an elective credit and a desire for a challenge. Just to keep things spicy, factors regarding both my physical health and the mental health of one of my children spun wildly out of control amid several major assignments that were due.
My thought process was along these lines:
“How am I going to contend with all of this?” “Why did I take this course?” “WTF was I thinking, pushing beyond my comfort zone?”
I then forced myself to see more clearly and began adjusting my line of thinking:
“How can I motivate myself from within?” “How can I flip the script on this whole situation?”
What was my solution? A reward jar that I affectionately named “My Star Jar.” Yes, that is right, a wooden reward jar (typically for young children) that little wooden stars are put into to track progress for goals. However, for me, it served as a visual representation of my continued perseverance and dedication to this course. I refused to fail. Each day that I had class, I put a star in my jar. After completing an assignment, I put a star in my jar. After my finals, I put a star in my jar.
I put my final star in my jar on December 16, 2024, when my instructor submitted my final grade, and my academic nemesis had been slayed. While I received A’s in all my other courses, I earned a B in this art course, and I was content with that. I was proud of my ability to look within myself and decide what would encourage me and help me face my fears and anxieties. It did not matter that it was a system created for children. Seeing my progress build with each star gave me the sense of fulfillment that I needed.
Completing this course along with my other ones this semester was nothing special. It was not my final semester, nor my graduation date. However, it was a powerful reminder that I can carry a great deal of weight, acknowledge it, and work through it without letting it define me.

An Arduous Climb to Heavyn
by nirve carmell

To The Unsealed Community:

so
a poem about the time
i posed
on top of my world
with a giant chicken:
community
a joint within
a brick within a brick
granting sanctuary
to the uninspired
the poet
molded into the earth
of their bed.

this year i embarrassed myself a lot. i took on a job as an apprentice art installer and mason at a museum. there i dealt with folx who reminded me of all my insecurities, because they looked and acted like the people who perpetuated them originally. sifting thru my heart, i realized the ways i was stoking these flames and made it my commitment to let go.
this is the longest i’ve held a job since i broke down from mental and physical illness two years ago. i’ve been in a nasty feedback loop with depression and type 1 diabetes for a decade now. i navigated the choice of transcending perceived danger and feeling the effort of that arduous climb to heavyn

by inviting in community

brick by brick.

i had many days where i wanted to give up and didn’t
and many days where i could give in
to the ebbs and flows
of recovery
and only by the grace
of my team
of knowing i could
fail over and over again
and still come home
did i enchant myself
into tru belief.

so
the chicken.

towards the end of my program’s run, we went to the National Gallery of Art in D.C.
on the roof
in the sun
i posed
exposed before the universe
and my crew
with no defense
but my two fingers
angled into
projected peace.

but better still
was it to stand
in the back
with my eyes closed
knowing exactly who
was around me.

as the year grows old
i give thanks
for the memories
that i had an active role in creating
that i may be lucky enough
to feel again
as they flicker
thru my mind’s eye
on my way out.

From: nirve carmell

I think I feel like I wish to swim out into the sea, past the boundary of the reef. I want to let myself swim until I exhaust myself, until my legs can no longer sustain myself, and I am forced to let go and float. I float on my back being carried and washed by the waves, pure exhaustion. I let the water drift my limp body any way it wishes. Will it drift me back to shore or out into the endless infinity of the sea? The unforgiving restless ocean, rocking its constituents, unpredictable and strong. Overpowering even. With the only hope for rescue being martyred saviors, happenstance, or the fortunate flowing back to an indeterminate shore.

I wish to swim out into the sea until I can swim no longer and see where it takes me, relinquishing control over myself and my life, and letting something else decide my fate.

Under the heat of the Dominican sun I am warmed in my soul. Salty breath and steady heart beat reminds me of the quotidian truth of inner peace. Bliss and calm, the same waves beating the sands sternly as they are meant to. I am here. I am where I ought to be. At any moment I can come back to the truth of my being which is everliving presence, awareness, stillness, and breath. The breath of life.

The sea reminds me of the possibilities.
The chaos of choice, the peace of knowing.
I rescind control, for an all-loving knowing.

Sunday morning, routine coffee mug full of hot, fresh-brewed coffee out of the 15-year old mr.coffee pot we got around the same time young me decided I like to drink coffee too. we sit outside on the deck that used to be filled with toys, now filled with tables, chairs, and adult-ish things as there are no kids that live here now. I sip on the hazelnut coffee my mom brewed; she remembered my favorite flavor after the one time I said it 5 years ago. I’ll let the sip linger on my tongue, praying the moment won’t pass before I allow it to consume me. my mom and I sit in silence, I think she’s sinking into the present too. we swirl our coffee in unison, knowing it’s getting cold because we have been savoring it for far too long now. we are in no rush to enjoy this cup; I would rather it turn cold while I find new ways to enjoy the present. it’s more than just coffee.
 

THIS NOTE NOT A PART OF THE SUBMISSION… this fresh piece, written last week, was a part of a very special moment – a personal epiphany really at age 70– that “It takes courage to be Happy.” Since been written, this piece has been read in two open mics, and well received.
=========================================================================

WINTER SUNDAY

I am defying winter
the cold and snow abound
by bare feet in sandals

even tho there is blue sky
visible thru the trees now
the branches are bare of happy green leaves.

A definition for being stuck,
in a certain defiance, a something
where the observation of a particular reality
is denied, where in that moment
seeing ain’t necessarily believing,
in wondering about the Webb Space Telescope
possibly having revealed an alternate view of the universe
(?really?) maybe it is only supposition
based on quantum physics?

Cold toes brings me back to
white, snowy realism
while questioning the faith I have in my brain,

why did that happen?
When loving another brings the pain
of separation, that great divide.

Twin reservoirs harbor cold water,
thick ice on top too, this winter Sunday
the cold wind blows my grey hair,
shivering, even tho I don’t want to.
What I can’t see diminishes my vision.
I do see the large, lone grey boulder, locked
in lakeside ice. Moose stand ‘way over there
my ears are in perfect order
hearing them call, EER-UGH, from the opposite shore.

—The American moose has a universal call between both sexes, the EER-UGH utterance varies with more emphasis on the ERR “syllable” in the does, and more emphasis on the UGH syllable in the bucks. When this poem is read on public, I am using the buck “pronunciation.”

Dear Unsealers,

In May, I planted garlic. It wasn’t much—just a few cloves from my sister-in-law’s house, buried with hope beneath the soil.

I’d read that garlic sprouts in about two weeks. So, I waited. I watered. I checked that spot every day. Weeks passed, then months, and still—nothing.

My girls, kind but honest, told me to let it go. “It’s not going to grow, Mom.” And maybe they were right. Maybe I was watering empty soil, chasing something that would never bloom. But I couldn’t stop myself. I held on, stubborn as ever, because, what if?

I must have looked foolish, still tending to what looked like failure, month after month. And then, one day, I stopped. Not because I had given up entirely, but because I was tired. I hadn’t watered that spot in weeks, hadn’t checked on it either. I’d quietly moved on, carrying that little ache of disappointment with me.

But life has a funny way of surprising us.

Out of nowhere, a green sprout appeared—small, vibrant, alive. I stared at it, stunned. Against all odds, after all that time, the garlic had grown.

That moment was more than a sprout to me. It was proof that sometimes, things take longer than they “should.” Growth doesn’t always happen when or how we expect it to. Just because something looks still doesn’t mean it isn’t alive beneath the surface.

This year, that garlic taught me about faith—the quiet kind that keeps going when there’s no evidence to keep believing. It taught me about letting go, too. Sometimes we try so hard to force something to happen, but when we step back, we give it space to grow.

So here’s what I’ll remember as the year ends: miracles take time. Don’t stop believing in the things you’ve planted. Don’t stop believing in yourself. Even when the world says it’s hopeless, even when you’re tired of waiting—keep going. Because the moment you least expect it, life will break through, whispering, “See? It was happening all along.”

Forever Growing,

memories are filled with joy and with laughter even fun but the best memories are you and me
being my own very best friend

I’m so proud of you and how far you came
this rode wasn’t easy but it was worth the drive you strived so far and beyond your limits until

you became unlimited by putting your mind to do anything and everything you could possibly do and what did you do

I made sure to overcome struggles that I dealt with even if it came with a little thunder and rain but besides that the sun has to come back up and rise again

being able to get my mind together was the best thing that ever happened to me because people can’t see what you can see and be you because there’s only one me

I’m happy to have shed tears and a little bit of sadness or pain because that’s what make these memories worthy all over again

being able to be the best version of myself compares to nothing else there’s nothing like self love, confidence, happiness, and peace amongst yourself

because when you’re alone there’s no one else but your thoughts and your thinking which could be overwhelming

but when you have a best-friend in you, within yourself there’s nothing else you would need I’m so thankful self for the memories that was made between
you in me

Dear Unsealers.
My best moment of 2024 is the minute I joined this community!
The pen in my hand, it felt like the emergency chain
A force to pause and pull the halting brakes
To tether and slow a speeding freight train.
A train of thoughts and many words
Few forgotten , many told while some left unsaid.
A train of wayward, wandering feelings
Leaving deep tracks as they ran through my heavy head.
The locomotive of endless emotions
Left me feeling constantly derailed
Quick to overthink and read in between the lines
I had failed to slow down
Choosing not to stop and read the caution signs.
I needed to halt
To lessen the pace
In my passing through life
A life that I was less living and more running a race.
Now I write to slow my mind
For in my words, it is a serene stillness I find.
My words are my maps
A compass to my joys, my feelings, my fears.
My guide to navigate through the laughs and tears.
A life to be travelled in tiny fleeting minutes
And not to speed as if we were to reach a thousand years.

Dear year 2024,
What is a memory?
A moment, a mosaic, a monument in time
One thousand words worth one Instagram post slipping past your scrolls on the timeline,
It’s the point of a pen when you try to pin the second down,
pause rewind play
pause rewind.
The record is spinning and time keeps moving forward
But I was falling towards sharp rocks
Collecting pieces of life captured in screens and clocks
pause rewind play
pause rewind.
Spinning around and around
Ashes ashes we all fall down
Seven times but I stood up eight
Wielded words shaking feathers until they bore some weight
Built foundations, brick by brick
Formed mountains with writers grit and the inspiration to start a revolution,
A renaissance with the simple flick of the tip of a poets wit.
So, my dear year 2024
I hold gratitude
For planting the seed and forcing me to bloom
Rejection after rejection gave no room to do anything but come back to my center.
A moment so tender a memory so sweet,
My dear 2024,
Your memories weave the roots of my legacy.

Every day the same
Clouds and fog roll in and out
Teasing with glimpses of light
Tide ebbs and flows
Flooded then not
Steps like quicksand
Sinking

Do I want to know what day it is?
If I do, I will know
it’s one more day without you

But if I
Don’t move past the grey
Then maybe I can stand still in time
Lost in the mist
And be with you
Just an hour, a minute a second
Longer
With you.

My children have met someone
That might become their
Partner, a life partner,
Whose aim is to keep both, never alone,

To start a family of their own.
Dealing with advice, first disagreement,
First time meeting anxiety lent
Some insight into meetings flown

Off their trajectory into a NO
While others have progressed
For months, weeks, days, dressed
In meeting spaces trying to leave NO

Leaf, question unanswered before
Coming face to face, as they brace
For acceptance, liking, passion, in a pace
That drives me insane for the core

Is to build a family within ours.
How do I proceed, as the mother?
How do I let go without a bother?
How do I progress when theirs

Is a meeting of minds and hearts?
How do I accept not spoiling
Them whenever I want, coiling
My fear into a bow that never rests

For you never know if their
Choice will truly be happy or queer.

©️ Malak kalmoni chehab ©️

A thousand stars burst brightly through my sight
The future arrived with such bitter blaze
A Broken type-cast, like ghosts of the past
Hope really shouldn’t exist.

The lies of omissions echoed and boomed
The edges shrivel, and fray and decay
Ra’s fire crack’s and burst- this frail excuse
The sledgehammer didn’t help.

Pouring rain, oceans of salt, drowned those stars
As they fell with all the wishes and hopes
Magic couldn’t sew stars back to the sky
Dreams dark nightmarish things.

But at the bottom of that ocean deep
Long lost treasure; incandescent did sleep
The empty shell now with a soul and hope
Now Remembering and realizing
Forgotten- The way home

Unshackled from ideals of ‘dreams come true’
Through realities patchwork telescope
The stars shine on, and never left the sky
I can rebuild this foundation from scratch
With treasures from my past.

The best thing that happened to me this year was getting fired from my job. I had worked there for seven years and grew tired, but before I had the opportunity to quit, I was let go. I was scared and for the first time, I had no plan of what to do. After several interviews and applications, I finally got a job at a place I had always wanted to work for. I had lived in comfort and content for so many years that I never really felt the need to hope for more. Now that I am at this new job there is so much potential and options of what I can do with my life now. It is a scary experience and nerve wrecking because I have to start all over again from making strides and accomplishments. Getting fired was the best thing to ever happen to me, because it changed my perspective and allowed me to see myself in a new light. I take greater risks now and I am not afraid to be myself and put my best foot forward. Sometimes failure is just the opening door for your next success story.