Elizabeth Barrette (ysabetwordsmith) wrote,
Elizabeth Barrette
ysabetwordsmith

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Poem: "The Changeling's Return"

This poem came out of the May 3, 2011 Poetry Fishbowl.  It was selected in the generally sponsored poetry poll.  It was inspired by a prompt from haikujaguar who related an anecdote about a transgender person using the changeling myth to retell their own story.  This is the heart of all storytelling, the power inherent in myths and folk tales -- it lets us turn our own experiences into stories, making them easier to remember, to deal with, to incorporate into our lives.  Think about the stories you tell of your own life, and the family stories you pass down.  Then read this one, with its dual levels of meaning, the faerie and the transgender...


The Changeling's Return


Father, I know
you raised a daughter,
but she was never me.
She was a changeling child
that the fairies left in my place.

I'm sorry it took so long
for me to find a way
to banish her back Underhill
with the magic of steel knives
and a brewing far more complex
than any eggshells.

Father, I am here now,
the son you always wanted.
Let me sit at your knee
and learn the things
that men teach to boys.

If my face is still halfway
between handsome and beautiful,
if my voice sounds a bit fey,
if I seem not quite real --
it is only because I was raised on
fairy wine and clover honey
and the silver apples of the moon.
Give it time.  The mortal world
will remember how to hold me.

Father, I only want
to belong, to find the place
that should have been mine from birth.
Only give me the key to your heart
and I will be content.
Let the Fair Folk have their daughter back,
who dances in her pink dress
and laughs behind her lily hand.
Let me have the axe and the woodpile
and a shirt of good blue flannel.

I've made the long journey home.
It's up to you now to open the door
on our happily ever after.

Tags: cyberfunded creativity, fantasy, fishbowl, gender studies, poem, poetry, reading, writing
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  • 59 comments
*sigh* People who've known me for years know I've always had a gender identity problem - I don't "fit" as female - but trying to pass (much less transition) to male would be a huge difficulty. (A G cup bust just doesn't vanish, even if you're fat. I tried making a binder once, and it didn't quite work. To try to buy this stuff costs a fortune, too.)

I know several (now) male transfolk, and often my reaction is more than a little envy. They didn't have the monster boobs to try to make disappear before they could become themselves.

At almost 50, now, there becomes less point to any of it.
>> *sigh* People who've known me for years know I've always had a gender identity problem - I don't "fit" as female - but trying to pass (much less transition) to male would be a huge difficulty.<<

Alas! Indeed, not everyone's shape is conducive to change.

>> (A G cup bust just doesn't vanish, even if you're fat. I tried making a binder once, and it didn't quite work. To try to buy this stuff costs a fortune, too.) <<

I started out with 32DD, a size that nobody even made bras in, not that I could abide wearing one. I'm not sure what my current size would be. Anyhow, I experimented with binding just for the heck of it. I discovered that 1) no amount of wrapping would make the lumps go away, and 2) my body didn't tolerate that any better than a bra. (I can wear a bodice, though, since that supports the weight from my hips.)

>> I know several (now) male transfolk, and often my reaction is more than a little envy. They didn't have the monster boobs to try to make disappear before they could become themselves.

At almost 50, now, there becomes less point to any of it. <<

That's understandable, but must be frustrating. *hugs*
Yeah, the ace bandage attempt was a painful farce. The homemade binder was literally full torso, almost a corset, neck to hip, in denim. I nearly ripped the seams out, and I still had bulges. 44g doesn't hide.

I can wear a bra, just not one of those underwire torture devices. I mostly have to, otherwise I nearly smack myself in the face with them if I move quickly and sweat like a pig beneath them.
If I'm moving a lot, such as on stairs, sometimes I just hold mine in my hands. For some occasions I've used a sport bra, but those usually have such heavy elastic at the bottom that I can't breathe. And hanging that much weight from my shoulders causes my spine to malfunction. So the puppies usually go unharnessed.
Yeah, if I let them bounce, I end up with pulled stuff, but the harness makes my back ache. I see a chiro once a month, and should see him twice a month.
If you know, or can find, a competent masseur/masseuse, you can extend the effectiveness of the chiropractic visits by receiving a good back massage (or few) between your visits with the chiropractor. Doesn't even have to be a professional; a talented amateur can do an excellent job. When I was doing bodywork for a health club in the Chicago suburbs years ago, I had several clients who'd see me every week 'cause it was cheaper (and more enjoyable) than seeing their chiropractors as often as they'd have needed to otherwise. Granted, it's only symptomatic treatment, but anything that helps reduce the pain could be useful.
Even at that age, breast reduction surgery can be an option.

It's still surgery, though.
Yeah, and I would love to have it, but then would I just end up wanting to transition because I could now, and doing *more* surgery.

I guess the problem is: Why the hell can't I just have the damn things cut off, period?

I could get them "reduced" to a C, if I get the insurance company to admit they cause physical problems, then go through the psych foo foo to get them to graciously "allow" me to have them removed completely.

Even if I had the money, I could not get a surgeon to just plain remove them. I've hated the damned things for over 35 years. They make me a "thing" to most people, a milk cow, a sexual object, a freak on display. It's less noticeable the more I weigh. If I had breast cancer, I'd just opt for a bilateral radical mastectomy, and be thrilled.

Sorry, rant off now.
>> I guess the problem is: Why the hell can't I just have the damn things cut off, period? <<

Because that would mean giving people agency over their own bodies, something American culture often aims to thwart. The power is placed in the hands of (mostly male, white, wealthy) surgeons and psychiatrists. And that's not an accident.
Yeah, because they know "what's best for us" in their oh, so educated and godlike wisdom. *puke*

Some days the medical (insurance and legal) establishment makes me see red. I've mostly had good luck with individual doctors, but then again I won't stay with bad ones, but the establishment and the legal shit just makes me crazy.
>> Yeah, because they know "what's best for us" in their oh, so educated and godlike wisdom. *puke* <<

Agreed. As if any cissexual person could fully understand what it is really like to be stuck in the wrong body.

>>Some days the medical (insurance and legal) establishment makes me see red. I've mostly had good luck with individual doctors, but then again I won't stay with bad ones, but the establishment and the legal shit just makes me crazy.<<

You're lucky. My body and personality are sufficiently far from standard that there are plenty of things that would help a normal person but are either ineffective or destructive for me. And a handful of things that work dandy for me that are marginal or ineffective for others. It is all but impossible to find a provider in any branch of health care who will frigging LISTEN to me. They usually insist on treating the body from a textbook instead of the body in the office. So I only go as a last resort. Anything less than unbearable or life-threatening is better left to wear off on its own. I resent that, but I've learned to cope.
Part of my good luck has come from avoiding them for most things, and only going semi-regularly to ones who do listen, because I end up in fights with those who don't. I still nearly got killed by Kaiser, but that's a whole different rant (you don't treat chronic bleeding in the brain with drugs, dumbasses.)

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