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No Man Has Ever Given Me Flowers

$$-AAAARoseWoman(Inspired by and dedicated to Stefani)

No man has ever given me flowers,
no bunch of roses,
nor simple posies,
no violets nor carnations.

No man has talked to me for hours,
with witty chat,
of this and that,
without sexual connotations.

No man has seen me as a lady,
never asked me to dance,
or tried some romance;
they think my morals must be spurious.

They think I must be an easy lay;
a ladyboy,
or a sexual toy,
for some guy who is bi-curious.

I may well be a sexual being;
I’m not an object,
to get you erect,
and bring you satisfaction.

Realise I have gentler feelings.
I won’t give head or rear,
to some closet queer,
who’s just looking for some action.

If I want sex, I’ll ask for sex.
but if you want to do me,
you need to woo me;
show some gentleness and charm.

So all you men, show some respect;
treat me as a human,
see me as a woman,
and the lady I truly am.

© Alexandra Durward, 2015

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The Pretty Little Princess – a poem

I suffer for my art, Darlings.  Now it’s your turn.


The Pretty Little Princess

Once upon a time
in a town like any other,
a pretty little princess
was born to a mother.

And friends and family oohed and ahhed,
and toys and clothes were bought,
for the pretty little princess,
lying in a sky blue cot.

As she grew she had lots of toys;
cars and tanks and bats and balls.
She loved them all, yet happily played
with her older sister’s prams and dolls.

She loved to play at dressing-up,
like so many other girls;
wearing mum’s and sister’s clothes,
with their delicate feminine frills.

“A phase he’ll soon grow out of,”
her parents both agreed,
“once he makes friends with other boys,
best to just let him be.”

But as the years rolled on,
she kept wearing skirts and dresses,
and oft refused to go for haircuts,
wanting to keep her pretty tresses.

Her parents started getting angry,
and said she did it to annoy,
saying she couldn’t be a princess,
because she was a boy.

Father sat her down one day,
and told her she was being silly;
And said “A pretty little princess,
could never have a willy.”

The little princess was all sad,
and shed a great many tears.
And to make her parents happy,
tried to be a boy for years.

She went with Dad to football;
played war and climbed the trees;
got into fights with local boys,
and came home with skint knees

But still she yearned for frocks and gowns,
and play the girlish games girls do.
So as her parents were proud of their son,
the little princess became more blue.

And as childhood gave way to teens,
she became more and more depressed;
realising she liked boys, not girls,
despite the princess being repressed.

Mother came home from work early,
and stood there quite appalled,
as she caught the pretty little princess,
made up like the belle of the ball.

Pulled in front of her father,
both parents called her a disgrace,
as the pretty little princess cried,
mascara running all down her face.

Ordered straight back into boys clothes,
and now under watchful eyes,
the pretty little princess;
was forced to school in shirts and ties.

But the princess would be hidden no longer,
and she had finally had enough.
And although she loved her parents,
she realised she had to be tough.

Donning one of her sister’s cast-off skirts,
and a feminine matching blouse,
the little princess walked in on her parents,
no longer timid as a mouse.

“Mum and Dad,” she addressed her parents,
as they sat there both aghast,
“I know I’ve always been a girl,
in all my life gone past.”

“I can’t help being who or what I am,
nor should I feel ashamed,
for acting as comes naturally,
and neither of you should feel any blame.”

“I love both of you dearly,
and I need you more now than ever.
So please let me be who I am,
and don’t let our bond be severed.”

“For if you truly love me,
then respect the person I’ve become;
and be proud of the daughter,
who never was your son.”

A full minute went by without a word;
a tear brimmed on Mother’s eye.
And father merely held his head,
and let out a deep sigh.

“I guess I always knew,” said her father,
“you would never grow to become a man.
But this does not come easy to Mum or I,
so please help us to understand.”

“I know all you say is truthful,”
said her mother through her tears,
“that you were destined to be a girl,
so of course we support you, my dear.”

She threw her arms around her parents,
and the three cried tears of joy.
Especially the little princess,
now free of being a boy.

Now despite the talk and gossip,
Mum and Dad remain unbowed;
for they have their pretty little princess,
of whom they are rightfully proud.

© Xandra Durward, 2015


A Single Rose for Nathan

ImageA single rose for Nathan,
that’s what we all should give;
to show love and understanding,
for the life he could not live.

To say sorry for the torture
that mankind put him through;
a single rose for Nathan;
it’s the least that we can do.

For when the mind can go no further
to meet what others demand,
when the quality of life is gone,
and no-one else can understand.

For the future which he could not face,
with more horrors than death’s jaws,
a single rose for Nathan;
for the man he truly was.

For the single rose says so much more,
than the dozen could ever impart.
It shows we care more deeply,
and speaks from the very heart.

So may each and every one of us
show respect and loving thought,
with a single rose for Nathan;
who finally found the peace he sought.

(In memoriam, Nathan Verhelst, 1969-2013, who opted for Euthanasia, rather than face life after his gender reassignment went wrong)