What Never Was (Poetry)

What Never Was
By Kira A. Moore 

Hallow halls echo with emptiness.
Memories and regrets
hang in the air,
dust from a past
best forgotten.

Faded black and white photos
strewn across the floors,
reminders of those
who have gone before,
to be lost forever.

Silence rings,
a discordant note,
where laughter once reigned.
The voices,
ghosts in the fading light.

Shadowed silhouettes
dancing to rhythms
of discontent;
what could be,
what should be,
what never was.  

From Therapy


I would like to apologize, this is going to be my most poorly written post yet, but I can’t get my thoughts organized enough to share anything in any other way…

What follows is my memories and impressions and thoughts from my latest session. Everything is paraphrased or simply what I remember, but I’m not able to give direct quotes, my memory isn’t good enough.

She said she was surprised I came to our last session presenting as female, until then I had only come as male, but it wasn’t long before it became something she didn’t even notice. My appearance and interaction with her was simply natural. The way I sat there, the way I talked, my mannerisms were essentially the same.

Which lead to this observation… Until then she had seen me as a male with many feminine qualities, then she saw me as a female with a few masculine qualities.

What was important to her was the way I felt.

She talked about discussing my issues with some of the other consulars. specifically my coming to a session in femme, (she made a point of telling me no names are used), and that during these conversations one of the male consulars referred to me as “he”, which she corrected with “she”.

(I wasn’t surprised by this, I knew there was shop talk. In fact, I assumed it was happening.)

We spoke of my conversation with one of the ladies I have come out to and how amazing it felt to just talk with someone without having to worry about being judged, how such freedom lead to the type of conversation… the “girl talk” some part of has craved for as long as I can remember… How I felt comfortable, happy, and not self conscience.

We spoke of how much she admired me for putting those around me before myself, for working so hard, struggling to walk a line at such personal cost. I told her then and it is true now, her words made me blush….

We spoke of my last poem and some of the meanings it contained and how they related to my internal struggles.

We spoke of things which might concern me in regards to how others see me, if the possibility of being seen as a too feminine male might be a problem. It isn’t, I have reached a point where it just doesn’t concern me any more, people are going to think what they wish regardless of what I say or do. Part of this is my having the chance to be in public as I myself. Before, this was a concern, but now… now I have had a taste of freedom and it washed away much of my fear in this regard. Do I want to be outted? No, of course not, but it isn’t something I cannot over come.

We spoke of my manuscript, of how it is a means to deal with the serious, powerful emotional issues I was going through at the time, and even now it remains a trigger for me, but coming back and dealing with this now is a good thing to do.

The last thing was talking about what we both need to think about in regards to going forward to our next session. These are things dealing with my own vision of myself as opposed to the reality of how others see me, of thinking of ways in which I can incorporate more of those things which make me feel comfortable with myself into my public persona, things which I would be aware of but most people wouldn’t notice. I am doing some already, letting my hair grow longer, doing my nails using clear strengthener, using more skin products to improve my natural appearance. I will eventually change my glasses to more unisex frames, get at least one ear re-pierced, maybe a little more jewelry.

The hard part, as it has always been, is to continue to work on my self image. My own sense of worth. To be able to look at myself, regardless of everything else, and see my true self looking back at me.


I said I would drop a line to say I am still here… and I am… 

I am still struggling and I don’t think this is going to be a quick or easy path to follow… only time will tell.

In the mean time, despite everything, I am still have an appetite, which is maybe the best sign I could hope for. If this becomes so bad I loose that, then I am going to be in serious trouble.


I’m Still Here, Promise!


Well, it seems there may be a little confusion from my last post. “Your Last Words”..

It is a poem, not a farewell notice. It never crossed my mind it might be read incorrectly and if it has been, then I apologize. I didn’t mean to cause any confusion.

While I usually make a point of not explaining what I was thinking of when writing a poem, I think it would be a good idea this time. The inspiration for “Your Last Words” was a survey I heard about which asked what ways were acceptable for breaking up with someone. There were several choices including doing so via email or text message and I thought about how upset I would be if someone wanted to break up but didn’t respect me enough to tell me to my face. And so a poem was born.

Let me say again, I am still blogging and have no intention of going anywhere soon. Being able to write simply means too much to me and I would miss everyone who reads my posts and follows my blog to think for even a moment of walking away…



The Swing

The Swing
By Kira A. Moore

She sits on a swing,
Her feet scuffing
At the dirt,
Though she doesn’t
Seem to notice.

The park is quiet now,
Looking forgotten
And forlorn,
Draped in
Moonlight and shadow.

And though she knows
With the sun
Will come children
And laughter,
Now silence reigns.

She sits on a swing,
Her feet scuffing
At the dirt
As she weeps,
Her tears unnoticed.