An ebook by William F. Whaley

Your Fortune Told You So

July 14, 2011

A pair with bad breath;
Smooshed breasts for one;
A sideways tangle;
A social stranglehold.

Thoughts danced,
Actions were wrought.
If not for tarot,
Would we have this plot?

Angst is high.
Prices are nigh.
Shit's shot,
This crap dropped.

Disappointment awaits
Any fool
Crowned by you.
Lo, this knight of cups.

Shit's dropping,
Temperature climbing.
The sign on the wall
Says cancer.

The mixing of scorpio,
Unraveled by
Outside forces --
Dictates disaster.

With the hermit
On guard,
And the ace of cups present,
Will anyone be left in high regard?

A pair with no voices,
No logic to spare.
These sideways advances,
Our social peers compare.

The Cards Only Hint

7/4/11

I keep waiting to be released
From this angst that continually increased
With my dating foes and fables.
I'd like to turn those tables.

Bill tells me my fate is mine;
I can switch reversed cards, any time.
If I'm pinned in corners of
Mystical design, how is my fate mine?

Cherish confirms my dread,
Of heaven-sent edicts.
I don't think I can full be free
Of what they all say makes me me.

Bill's readings tell me small things,
Things about taking hold
Of things I'd rather foretold.
Cherish tells them in more details.

My own readings tell me
That I don't know enough
To ask the things that
I want cognitive therapy to find.

I'm usually somewhat self aware,
But I gotta tell you --
I'd rather avoid all these stares.
Pointing out things tends to go moot.

I keep thinking, what did I do,
In my last life, to make things this way?
I'd rather muscle through,
To find that elusive brighter day.

I like watching the cards repeat;
They seem to suggest that I ask
Things that weren't just the same.
Perhaps they like their reminding task.

I'm the type to hate patterns
When they fly sideways from logic.
Logic says tarot is silly;
Part of me suspects larger projects.

I have this hunger,
A hunger I'd rather not feed.
Am I me, without my angst?
Am I still edgy without my greed?

If I had what I want,
Would that nix my perception?
Do I dare find what I want,
Stray away from Welfare's protection?

I fear myself, because I rarely help myself.
I'm less of a support than anyone
I typically blame for my childhood.
Maybe it'd be good for my health...

Would I still be me,
If I had someone to complete me?
Would I still have that edge,
What else can I be?

Nihongo, Here I Go

June 3, 2011

ありがとう、コウヒイ。
今日僕は寝ません、
と僕は書きをする。
フレエ、フレエ、コウヒイ。

My grammar sucks;
I forget the tricks.
I already write things backwards,
So I get that one, it sticks.

今晩は、友達は
逢ますに僕です。
晩飯を食べます、
でも、煮るが解りません。

I should dig out my notes,
The one on adjectives and shit.
Where's the one on verbs...
I know I have it...

それコンピュタアが便利です。
NJStarが懐かしむ。
それはもっと良いに書きも。
日本人は解りません僕です。

Slow; very slow.
I have to look up a lot of things
I already should know.
Ah, all this practice, this loss of things.

それじゃ俳句
ありませんです。
僕は忘れる、はい。
練習しましょう！

June News

June 3, 2011

I've spent the last week
With Courtney Love lyrics
Haunting my subconscious.
I'm about ready to freak.

C'est la vie.
J’aime les chanteuse Alizée ;
Sauf, je suis penses elle est étrange.
C'est la vie, c'est la vie.

We recorded me, all high.
Man, I laugh like that sober.
My neck hurt for days ;
Now I know why.

Je désir emploi a 7-11.
C'est ne fantaisiste,
Sauf besoin les argent.
J’aime les hommes du 7-11.

I'm plotting a new story,
A little ditty about love ;
Yeah : you heard it.
I'm tackling a weak subject : love.

Mon français est okay !
It's just my japonais that
Seems so damn rusty.
I'd better focus on that, today...

House of Broken Dreams

6-2-11

We won't fix the hole in the wall;
I don't care anymore:
Sell it and get out.
We won't fix the hole in the wall;
Sell it and get out.

When the realtor comes next week,
I don't want you here.
Don't sulk around some bedroom corner,
Interrupting as she speaks.
When the realtor comes next week,
I don't want you here.
Don't torture her with some grand tour
Of bedrooms lost and bathrooms past.

Who keeps the photos --
Our wedding photos?
Should I burn them with my memories
Of how things started off to be?
Who keeps the photos --
Our wedding photos?
Who keeps the photos?
Our kids don't get along,
And our enemies are us.

This house is a collection of junk;
10 years of junk.
You've got your corners, I've got mine;
Go get your junk --
Go bring it to your mom's,
I don't want any of you here.
This house is a collection of junk;
10 years of junk.
I've got CDs you won't listen to:
10 years of junk.
You've got photos your dad took:
10 years of junk.

Which one of us will keep the dog?
I want the cat.
Which one of us will take the rug?
I want the knives.

I wish you would leave,
But we both keep on staying.
I won't fix the door --
Sell it and get out.
I won't fix the wall --
I don't care anymore,
Sell it and get out.

Title Page, Yo

An ebook by William F. Whaley

Polly Wants a Cracker

It's 3 AM on a Wednesday;
I'm sitting online, talking to a
Guy who never had much to say,
Before we stopped talking a year ago.

I'm Bridget-Jones-ing.
Cherish keeps phoning
When I'm out socializing.
She's sick of the shit I'm vocalizing.

I'm going through a phase;
I remember the glory days.
I remember when poems weren't shitty,
'Cuz they weren't about me.

Jay looked these over;
The guy has an English degree.
After his reading was over
My lack of meter was what he could see.

It's verging on 3:30.
I'm not sure why I'm still awake.
I've got the Nirvana playing,
And more introspection to make.

This poem is shit;
I know it,
You know it.
I miss my command of words.

Spreading the News

I finally saw my doctor,
It was a good visit;
I'd been avoiding my doctor,
Since the last, long ago visit.

I'd told him before,
About this trans thing;
He hadn't been onboard before,
But he was good about this thing.

I'm gunna see someone out-of-town,
He's going to refer me;
Since the government makes me,
Making all the doctors out-of-town.

I told my mom, about the doctor;
She didn't know I'd asked a doctor --
Maybe she'd hoped this was a phase.
I'm referred to a program, in case of phase.

She's asked if I'd told my dad;
I'd told her that I hadn't really --
He sort of guessed, but not really.
I'm a little worried about my dad.

Small Social Pool

Cherish is ditching out;
I'd had this plot
To make her dinner.
She said she'd rather tacos.

Ward's stopped phoning;
I'd better make a point of
Making my own calls to him.
How else will I learn more crochet?

Dylan's back in the game;
Looks like he ditched MSN.
I found him on Facebook,
Totally not expecting an account.

My internet friends are
Evaporating fast.
I don't know where they go,
But it's not online.

Mostly, Jay and Bill
Like when I come by.
I rarely buy anything, so,
I like to try and be good company.

My mom's stopped phoning,
Twice a week.
I think since I told her of Willy,
Maybe she's worried about me.

Since the A&W Crew
Split apart,
I rarely see Taylor or James;
Maybe they prefer it that way.

Toby and her husband
Seem to want me around;
It's always good to see them;
They're such a cute couple.

Tallahassee versus Vegas Memories

Joe's been dead,
For 2 months now.
A lot of what's in my head
Has been calmed now.

Things have been improving;
Cherish tells me I'm upbeat;
I finally voted, despite moving.
I'm no longer on a shy retreat.

My social life seems good;
I'm not always in my neighborhood.
I had another friend tell me
That he's checking in to his gender.

I keep thinking of what
Joe missed, in the last while.
If he could see me now,
What would he say?

Things feel horrible less;
Maybe it's just a good patch.
I think I'm prepped for the test;
Maybe some will reattach.

My social life widened some,
I met someone else who's fun.
He'll teach me some stitches;
I have a nice lack of bitches.

I wonder how long it'll be,
Before I stop counting
How long it's been
Since Joe stopped being.

Love Hurts, She Says

April 13, 2011

Am I indecisive?
I don't know.
I research a fair bit,
There's a lot I don't know.

I keep saying,
"I'm not a man.. yet,"
In my head; yet:
Is that what I need to be saying?

I get most of the risks;
I get most of the tricks.
I think, as I come out,
The more I'm ready to shout.

I want to say,
"Hey, ladies."
Every day,
I wait to hear, "Die faggot."

Am I sheltered?
I don't know.
Is this town homophobic?
I can't tell; I don't know.

Me, As Myself

April 13, 2011

The more "me" I am,
The more strange life gets;
I'm socially damned,
But I'm trés interesting, I bet.

It sounds like Sinéad O'Connor
Is saying, "O Che Guevara,"
But she's really saying,
"Oró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile."

I have no idea what that means;
But it sounds beautful.
I had so many dreams
That I was surrounded by flying superhuman trans.

There's an absence of glory,
And beauty in my life;
I instead delve in to the gory,
The horror, and strife.

I need a favorite author;
I miss worshipping King.
I miss systematically reading authors,
And all the insights that brings.

The more "me" I am,
The more I weird you out.
I couldn't give a damn,
I'm finally almost out.

An ebook by William F. Whaley

SAY MY NAME

April 11, 2011

Call me William,
I'm currently duding it up.
Call me Billiam,
I totally made that nickname up.

Call me Billy,
If you don't like Willy;
I kind of like Billy,
But not as much as I do Willy.

Call me Will,
It sounds kind of Smith-y;
Call me Bill,
It's supposed to be Hicks-y.

You're My Best Friend

April 11, 2011

For about a month,
We've been on a 90s bender.
It's nice: you haven't been a cunt
About me wanting to change my gender.

We get in with the 4:20,
Every one of these nights.
We crack out the kreteks,
It's all-damn-right.

I keep trying to draw you,
But I lack the skill.
There's nothing I'd rather do
Than see the day you finally call me Bill.

We're finally out of the 4:20;
We should hit up your old groupies.
I know they'd bring plenty,
All your worshipers: loopy.

You're my best friend,
Online/offline.
You're badass, to the Nth –
I'll fight your demons, anytime.

Twofer on a Friday

April 11, 2011

I finally hit on a girl,
When I didn't look like one myself.
I didn't mutter, didn't hurl;
I was totally myself.

It was the coveted redhead,
A sweet-faced girl of 20-or-so;
I thought she'd laugh me dead,
I was also hitting on the blond, even so.

I look ridiculous, with so little hair;
Regardless, titless, I had balls.
The guys saw me, with my hair –
They too saw I had big (invisible) balls.

I can finally hit on women!
I might not always be alone!
I'll bring them to my den,
And show them my golden bone.

I've gotta buy my boner;
I asked around, how big it should be.
I might need a loaner;
Men get mad when I tell them, 7” it will be.

I can finally feel right,
Talking to a girl.
I'm quite a sight,
Watch me unfurl.

An ebook by William F. Whaley

I've Been 15 Twice

I feel like I should be
In a Michael Cera movie;
I should be awkward, 15 --
Faced with challenger, all of them mean.

I know there's gunna be a girl,
One that makes me speak word salad.
If I don't happen to hurl,
Maybe the girl will invoke a ballad.

I want to overcome
This painfully-shy boyhood.
Before my movie's done,
I want to know I did good.

Will it take a beard
For a girl to take me on?
Wouldn't it be weird,
If only men came on?

Maybe there'll be a scene,
Just at the end,
Wherein we're out in the green;
A summer lovesong to send.

Dear Brad

April 10, 2011

I told you, like I tell them all:
If you leave, I'll understand.
I'll know why you don't call,
Why it's like I died, in Ireland.

I keep hoping, that with
My increased sex drive --
Should I manage to get hormonally stiff,
A lady will come by.

I keep hoping I won't be alone;
You told me I was embarrassing.
For this new "look" I can't atone,
I can't just call it a phase thing.

You told me I'd lose friends,
But you missed me when I "came out".
You don't comprehend --
Struggle is what I'm all about.

I see others, in my merry band,
Struggling all across this continent's land.
Their people also don't understand;
Maybe I can keep this all in hand.