Dear Daisy,

I anticipate your stems sprouting from the ground every spring, and I can feel you again. When summer approaches, your petals will showcase their beauty in the sunlight. I will close my eyes and take a deep breath, and for a moment, you are here in my arms. I imagine your bright blue eyes mirroring mine. Your smile is the brightest star in the sky. Your laugh roars, filling the earth with glee as you play with the other neighbor kids in nature. It is easy to get lost in the daydream.

Before you, I was giving my body away to men who didn’t deserve it. Drowning underneath insecurities and self-loathing, allowing myself to be treated as a piece of property that could be used and abused by men. Convincing myself that I wasn’t worth love, I kept telling myself that this was how I wanted to feel: worthless and nothing.

My period did not come. I kept telling myself, no, it isn’t possible. I was in denial. Adults have a superpower of lying to themselves, so incredibly powerful that they believe it until they can no longer outrun it. The truth will always rear its head, and it’s heartbreaking.

That morning in June, I awoke with intense cramps. I convinced my twenty-six-year-old self that my period was coming… three months late. Treating it as a typical day, I went to work. As I was Chatting with my coworkers, one of them being your father, about planning a fun night out, I felt a cramp, and a gush of blood erupted flowing outside of me. I ran to the third stall in the bathroom, and I saw it. I could no longer deny what was happening. I was losing you, Daisy.

Turning back into a childhood state of mind, I called my mother, and she rushed me to the hospital. Blood was seeping me through like a waterfall. When they came to tell me I was losing you, my heart tore in such a way that I am still unable to put into direct words. I hadn’t even developed the courage to tell your father you were coming; now I would have to say to him you were gone just as quickly as I accepted you were alive.

He was kind enough, but wasn’t the emotional support I needed then. He didn’t understand why I changed and didn’t want to be a “coworker with benefits anymore.” He got upset with me when I wouldn’t fulfill his desires, even though the doctors told me it wasn’t safe for me to do until I stopped bleeding. I did not want to be an object of his desire anymore.

I bled from June to August. Part of me didn’t want to stop bleeding because that would mean you were truly gone. I wanted even those parts of you to stay. The day the blood stopped, I put my hand on my empty womb and wept. It was two days past my twenty-seventh birthday.

I had spent most of my life avoiding any feelings of vulnerability. Losing you was the first time I felt every emotion in my body: sadness, anger, regret, and eventually relief. The truth is, Daisy, I wasn’t ready for you, and I will never know if that could’ve changed in time for your arrival. Granting myself to succumb to my emotions took me from a shell, and I embraced the complete existence of myself as a person and a woman.

After hours of self-reflection, I realized I was not stuck with anyone. Cutting the ties, I focused on building myself as a strong and confident woman. I promised myself never to give my body away until I could say to myself, “I love you.” Somehow, I got there. I felt the wind hit my face, and you said, “You got this, Mommy.”

Experiencing a miscarriage has given me unwavering strength to tackle obstacles that dare come my way. I am intelligent, I am kind, I am important. I am grateful for every ounce of pain and emptiness I felt in my body. Never again will I throw my feelings into a drawer and pretend they aren’t there. I can articulate when I am hurting and ask for support from people around me. The experience made me a whole person, not the robot society deems the most acceptable. My strengths and weaknesses make me whole, just the way I am. And Daisy, that is the most freeing feeling anyone can be. Through you, I discovered how to love myself.

You are the world, Daisy. I never gave you a name. I planted the prettiest seed to remember you, and will continue to bloom for you and me.

I Love You Always,

Your Mom

Today at work, I surprised a fellow associate when I told him that I had been born with cerebral palsy, which had affected my left side since I was a child. He had a surprised look on his face since he could not detect that I had anything wrong, much less a disability. I am a fire safety officer with the security department ata New York City hospital, and my job requires that I be ready to rumble and jump into action at a moment’s notice. But had you seen me when I was 4 years old, you probably would not have thought that I would go that route. In those days, in the middle 60s, my mother had her hands full taking me to the hospital every 3 months to see the doctors at the prestigious Hospital for Joint Diseases on 124th Street in East Harlem. One of the first things we’d do is go over to see Jimmy the cop. Jimmy was a security officer in the hospital, and he always made me feel like a little giant whenever my mom brought me to see him. Then it was on to the doctors where we’d do the same exercises over and over again to see if I needed any special tools to button my shirt or tie my shoe.
As a result of my condition, I walked with a limp, and I also dragged my left foot behind me. When I was three and a half years old, I was fitted with a metal brace on my leg to alleviate this condition.The brace was attached to the ugliest looking Brown looking brown orthopedic shoe you ever laid eyes on. I was always pleading with my mom to let me wear sneakers like the other kids, but she would just console me that one day soon she’d buy me a pair. Along with this special challenge was the added pressure of being a small kid. But, as I was soon to learn, my challenges did not define the size of my heart and the scope of my mind. Starting in 1967, I was part of the national United Cerebral Palsy telethon held at the Ed Sullivan theater in New York City. I remember the special party events we would attend in those days before and after the late autumn telethon. The Christmas parties were a kid’s dream. Even though it was a lifetime ago, I can still remember my name being called, and walking with my mom down the center aisle to meet Ed Sullivan, who shook my little hand. But nothing could top the candy at these parties. Yep, candy was life for a 4-year-old kid. Everything was larger than life when seen through the eyes of a four-year-old. I still walk by and the glance through the windows of the glass door of the old Ed Sullivan theater on West 54th Street which years later became the setting for the David Letterman show in the early eighties. I remember meeting Edie Gorme and her recently deceased husband Steve Lawrence. Every year they supported the telethon and all the kids. Our moment was when they paraded us on the stage and one of the hostesses would sing her song every year.Look at us we’re walking, look at us we’re talking. I can still hear that voice in my head. But it was in 1968 when something happened that made me see things differently. That summer, my sister and cousin were entered into the Little Miss America Pageant at the Palisades Amusement Park, and my mom put me in a several weeks long sleepover camp for kids with CP. I remember arriving at the camp and seeing all these kids who had it much worse than I did. Many in wheelchairs, and some severely disabled. But they smiled and laughed, and did the best they could in the face of their challenges. The counselors were so friendly, and my first crush was a 20 something year old blonde who I thought had taken a special liking to me. Well, at least that’s what I tell myself nowadays. Then, one day it happened. We were at the pool when she shattered the illusion.She proceeded to unstrap her left leg and hop into the pool. My little four-year-old mind was mortified. But she could really get around in that pool though, I’ll tell you that.
As I became familiar with all the kids, I tried my best to help when I was able. Helping them in their chairs, or making life easy whenever I could.
One fine summer day, we were sitting in the group playing our kazoos. There we were, just drooling along to Peter Paul and Mary’s only number one hit song, “Leaving on a Jet Plane”,
when I spied one of the kids 50 ft away on an embankment, tossing rocks at a tree. I left the group, and limped over to where he was in his wheelchair. As I got closer, I could see that he was throwing stones at a hornets nest. I tried drawing attention to us as to what was going on, but it was too late. As I approached his wheelchair, he let loose with a stone, and struck the nest. Faster than you could say lickety split, we were surrounded by hornets who zeroed in on us, stinging to their hearts content. I struggled with his wheelchair trying to roll it down the grassy hill, but try as I might, I was no match for the grassy hill or the hornets. Help arrived, and we were hurriedly rescued by a couple of counselors and taken to the nurse to be patched up with calamine lotion. But the events of that day stood with me for the rest of my life, because it taught me that with great power comes great responsibility. Yeah, I know it sounds cheesy, but I have always tried to live up to that awareness.The next year, I had my leg operation, and the brace came off. I finally got those sneakers. They were skippy’s, but wore them proudly. All these years later, I became a hospital security officer where I continue to make a difference. I especially like to go up to the young kids that are wheelchair bound or get around with the aid of a walker and give them words of encouragement. I’m no Jimmy the cop, but if you need help escaping a hornets nest, I’m your man.

I always knew I was different, yet the ability to articulate exactly what I felt eluded me for most of my life, especially the early years. I grew up in the 80’s, pre internet, so I didn’t know there were other people in the world like me. When the internet came about, I learned that I was a crossdresser. Though that didn’t exactly fit me, it was the closest thing I had to an identity.

As a teenager I would go through a form of conversion therapy which resulted in burying my feminine side and trying to brace hyper masculinity. It was nothing more than a mask that I would wear for the sake of others. For if I could fool them, one day, I could even fool myself. I thought I was rather good at it, yet there were many days and nights she would be just below the surface, screaming to be let out. Every time I would silence her and go about life. The smile on my face was a poor attempt at hiding the sadness in my eyes.

Decades would go by and with each passing year I marveled that I was somehow still alive. I could never picture a future where I existed, where I had happiness, genuine happiness that persisted in my day-to-day life. I would become depressed over time which led me to one of the most life altering choices I would ever make. Instead of going through the motions and simply existing every day I sought help from a therapist, not just any therapist, but one that also specialized in gender identities, transgender people.

I would finally have answers to my questions. I finally had the language to define who I was. I wasn’t a boy; I wasn’t a man. I am a woman, a trans woman. What did that mean for me? How can I do this at the age of 41, I asked myself. With my therapist’s guidance I was able to answer these questions, navigate this transition and all the added pressures it would bring on someone that has a family, job, and lives in the bible belt.

It wasn’t easy by any means. Depression would set in at the knowledge of being different than the rest of the world. Yet I would plug away. I think my most defining moment early in my transition was the loss of a dear friend who was also a trans woman. The pressure got to her, and she took her own life. And I was scared, terrified, because only weeks earlier that was very nearly me.

My employer had exclusions on gender affirming surgery in the company Healthcare plan, so I was at a loss of how to pay for these surgeries. So, I would keep asking my employer to remove said exclusions. Each year the answer was no. Each year I would send a formal request to corporate and each year I would get a different reason why they wouldn’t remove the exclusions. After 4 years of this I reached out to an attorney for assistance and after a year of back and forth, my employer at the urging of the EEOC removed the exclusions on gender affirming surgery.

I had my first surgery in November of 2023, a breast augmentation or as the community calls it, top surgery. And my bottom surgery was in March of 2024. You’ll hear people say that gender affirming care is lifesaving. And that’s really a hard concept to grasp unless it’s something you’ve experienced first-hand. I even didn’t fully grasp how life altering it would be until my first surgery. Yes, I had gender dysphoria regarding my body. Yes, there were times I hated my body so much I wanted to hurt myself. Times spent in the shower, in the dark, just crying.

And then you have corrective surgery. To many, it’s a small thing. A small step. But when your body is foreign to you, when your body has betrayed you and you wake up from that first surgery and see the results of it? I cannot fully describe the amount of joy I felt. Finally, my body was starting to look like it should have all these years. Finally, I felt at home in my body. I started to stand up straighter. The was no longer this unseen weight on my shoulders. Finally,, I was me! I was happy. I am happy! My body was finally mine, not some impostors. More importantly, when I try to imagine what the future looks like, I can see a world where I exist in it. Transitioning, and gender affirming surgeries, gave me another chance at life. I’m both lucky and grateful to have been able to see the world from two sets of eyes.

My former self was fueled by mental illness and trauma. I was a prisoner inside my own mind. I felt burdened and weighed down with life, that life itself was torture. I was always inconvenienced, and everything triggered me. I was wrapped so tight that when I unraveled I would fall completely apart and I’m frantically would gather them all back up. My anger consumed so much of me that everyone had to walk on eggshells in my presence. I was so lost I couldn’t comprehend my left from my right most days. I was a total mess. A lost cause, a mistake and everything else that replayed in my mind that someone else had told me about myself. I couldn’t live with myself, yet I expected others to come make me whole, to protect me and provide for me, to show me I was worth something and that I mattered! Time after time, I bleed all over them until they had to abandon me to save themselves. I struggled daily trying to convince myself this would all be worth it one day. Even though all the fighting to stay alive was not paying off, it only kept getting harder. I kept fighting.
June 12th of 2022 I received the call that my Mother’s journey had come to an end. Standing outside my mother’s apartment knowing her physical body was lifeless on the other side of that wall and now her story was fully written was bittersweet. Her book had closed, yet for me it was a chapter ending.
I knew at that moment I had no choice but to live life differently than her, again. My mother and I shared a mental illness diagnosis that was not easy to manage or live with. Her passing was a heartbreaking loss yet also a breath of fresh air. I knew she finally had some peace and rest after all those years of searching for it.
Her passing fueled a new fire inside of me. I grew a desire to taste happiness. I wanted to know what joy felt like. I needed to feel comfort and gain stability. I finally had the chance to truly heal and this chapter of my life was over. The ending of my mother’s story gave me a new beginning. I allowed myself to fully unravel and fall apart. I took a long hard look at the mess I was in. I knew this is the time I would finally clear out the junk and could organize what parts of me were salvageable. I began piecing myself back together with the pieces that made me, me. From there, I began to build a masterpiece from my brokenness. I grasped hold of patience, which allowed me to no longer be inconvenienced.I stopped being angry at life and that allowed me to grow softer and embrace the beauty I hadn’t seen before. I got to know, understand and grow intimate with the feelings that had been neglected underneath that thick layer of anger. I began to have peace and love within myself. My mind became my sound. I learned to be still and let the universe be my compass. Piece by piece I am still coming together and I fully am enjoying this part of my journey.
I get to live out the beauty in exchange for my mother’s ashes. To honor that duality, I choose to live life today, tomorrow and all the rest of my days since my Mother couldn’t. For 35 years I struggled with my own mental health; My mothers struggle was an additional 24 years harder. I spent my whole life making sure I did everything opposite of her, so much so, I became all the good I am today because of Her!!!

Thank you mom for paving the path so I could find my way out of the darkness and be the light for so many others. I seen you, I heard you, I understood you and I still love you today!

Your daughter,
Noble Storm Famous Warrior

Everything is happening at once yet nothing is happening at all the overwhelm feels like I’m drowning but I still stand tall regardless of the pain that I feel except someone once told me only love was actually real but why do I feel the anger and the sadness so deeply it feels like a part of me and inhibits me to see clearly why is the love i feel attachment why do my words not match my actions why do I confuse suffering for being noble why do I lack trust but continue to be hopeful for something that doesn’t exist because I’ve created someone even I can’t be safe with only to come to the realization that I’m the one who made this happen the exact way that it did to save myself in the end to learn that love is your greatest weapon to use or else it’s abuse to know it is to be it I became it so I could defeat it, just incase you needed a reason.

-Your Will to Live

October 17th 2006…
Gave up on the old life-it just could not exist.

I was using, drinking, abusing-Trying self to die
But though I was overblown-was some thinking in mind.
At the end of the night-substance and alcohol gone
Came this thinking of life stinking-maybe I was wrong.

Wait a minute here-I should be crumped,
These gasoline fumes just may be dumb.
Tomorrow, my only daughter…turns five-
And I’m not wanting to be alive?

How could one steal a life to others real?
When this world came to life-was it a flip deal?
Had not my best friend-escaped again,
To the hospital room from my hole-sunk tomb?
Emergency fair-I’ll wait…Have not my best friend there.

Then like God spoke:
Put the gas can down-may new life, have wrote…
So, I went next days’ recovery-
Burned out and bent; but God had reality!
…And this could all be good?
Wherefore means the little engine that could?

Therefore I obeyed that very next day,
And glory halleluiah-God had better/No, the best Way!!!
And no-have not had there-street life goodbye
Along with witchcraft involved in drugs…
I was simply chasing the wrong place/wrong love.
God, I thought You hated me-so I hated You too,
I for all along had been deceived-I’ll not type what needs You.
But thank You later for taking me, to the alter of grace…
God, once again-You were on time, because You’re never late!!!

8:41PM
4/15/2024
Monday

That moment I chose myself & my path of destiny
The path that was made for me
Was the happiest moment of my life

I no longer carried the heaviness of oppression & my generational strife
I no longer had to pretend I enjoyed being an ordinary housewife

I ran towards my truth quicker than the wind could blow

I could finally smile and exhale my ancestral whoas

I chose to be the person only a seer could see
I chose to stand tall & SING

I AM no longer a blackbird, but a phoenix of almighty power
I watched the clocks speed up by the hour

As I flew into the unknown above their racist towers
With a new perspective of self-love & dignity

As I sat there resting, finally able to drink my tea
And basque in the glory of who I could BE

Embodying the path that was made for me

Celebrating that I chose,
My heavenly destiny

I DON’T HAVE PTSD
[in Southernspeak]

When I wake up in the mornin’
most any day
everything isn’t broken
lying about in ashen heaps, the smell
his buddies dead or dyin’
one smokin’ wheel of the sideways chopper still turnin’.

I can have
an already-always appreciation
of a new day. Most any mornin’
rain, or sun peering at me
there’s blue sky in between the clouds
and the coffee is good.

I don’t have to clean up empties
or wipe up dog poo cause I didn’t let it out
in time
that time of not bein’ to forget, all encompassing.

My good friend has it tho
and it never fully leaves him
the self recrimination either
whar forgiveness ain’t
nor the compassion jus’ be missin’
he fight this time an’ next for the clear blue.

My friend has seen mor’ o’ the dyin’
than I will ever
even after a career of hospital intensive care work
where my role in it were to stop tha’ dying.
His was to cause it, that ther’ black
when we look each other in tha’ eye, we know.

For a long time I have always felt silenced. I go to speak and no words come out. So I hold it in. I have held my tongue for many reasons. One of which comes from childhood where I was told ‘do not speak when grown folks are talking’ or ‘don’t speak when I speak’. And they are always speaking. Another reason for why I have held my tongue is because of my speech impediment. I say my R’s like W’s so whenever I speak people find it comedic and disregard the words that I am actually trying to say. So I hold it in. I don’t speak and I disassociate. But that was my childhood. I am grown now and I can’t keep being quiet. I can’t keep getting walked over and I can’t keep tolerating disrespect. I believe that I try to be gracious to people and even when they are wrong I try not to judge too harshly. I give grace, but it is not received. I get evicted, lose my car, move back in with my parents and it is all his fault. Apparently. Even though everyone in the family has suffered a loss, has lived through failure. However, the person that I love must be perfect and never, ever fall. The person that I love has been judged and I stay silent. The person that I love has been treated and talked about unfairly, but I have no words. If I don’t know how to speak up for myself, how can I speak up for others? The moment that changed my life for the better is when I was punished for loving someone. I had to suffer and go without because he is a little rough, he curses and he’s not perfect. Getting punished for something you cannot control is something that I couldn’t hold it in. The words and emotions flowed out of me. The words stung and I knew it, so I just pressed it in deeper. I wanted to speak on all of the times that I didn’t speak for myself. I wanted to remind them that I was always last on their list and how I was always overlooked. I am never invited out and never included, but the person that sticks beside me and that is with me every day is villainized. He is not perfect, but neither am I. Or you. Jesus said that he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. It seems like those with the most to say and the most to hide are the ones always casting the stone. So, I threw a stone when you made me sit outside in the rain when I was in college, but you let some random guy roomate with you. And I threw a stone on the time that I was stuck in the middle of nowhere and you refused to get up because you were in for the night. I am better now that I know that I don’t need to hold my tongue to be a part of a family. I am better since I let you have it. I am better since I stepped to you and made you realize no matter how much older you are than me, I will never tolerate disrespect from you. The moment you took the car away that you gave me because you didn’t like my boyfriend it changed me for the better. Ten days later, I got approved for a car with no money down. Punishing me for who I love will never work because God will show up, show out and bless me even better in the end.

Silence must be heard

A Voice unheard.
Afraid to speak
Years of darkness,
Years of being a sheep.
Wrongfully fired on the spot
Her mouth hung open
She was distraught
Silenced again,
with so much pain
Never again
Did she move the same.

Fear resided, kept her silent
Until reminded,
She was the pilot.
Stepping on the stage,
She sang her song
Wrote her next page.
Verbiage flowed
like never before

Finally,
her Voice roared.
Her Voice carried
The melody gave her power
She began to bloom
Becoming a vibrant flower!
Now heard and not just seen,
She began to live
Live her dreams,
Never to fear being
Heard or seen.