In the Stillness of Chaos Preview: Awakening in Starlight

Since starting HRT, my experience of meltdowns as an autistic trans woman has transformed dramatically. What were once overwhelming but somewhat familiar sensations have become much more intense and vivid. The physical and emotional shifts brought on by hormone therapy have heightened my sensitivity to sensory input, and with that, the meltdowns now feel like lightning storms coursing through my body—bright, raw, and impossible to ignore. It’s as if my body, in its process of realignment, is amplifying every sensation and emotion, making these episodes harder to manage but also more illuminating.

As a gestalt language processor, these meltdowns often leave me without the words or scripts I need to make sense of the chaos. The familiar grounding tools I once used to regain control feel insufficient. In these moments, I often turn to poetry as a way to craft the scripts I desperately need to navigate these experiences. Poetry helps me distill the intensity into something tangible—a rhythm, a cadence, a shape that allows me to reframe the moment. It’s through this act of creation that I can find the words to hold onto when everything else slips away. The act of writing becomes a lifeline, a way of grounding myself when my sensory world becomes too overwhelming to process in real-time. Through this process, I’m able to transform the chaos into something I can work with, even if only for a short time.

An odd awakening

As a child, the poetry I encountered in school was a stark contrast to the vibrant world I now experience. I remember being introduced to Charles Mackay, whose words felt heavy, impenetrable, like dead leaves crumbling in my hands. His poems, whilst respected, lacked any sense of connection for me—there was no spark, no life, no invitation to explore deeper. I felt as though I was being asked to engage with something already long past its prime, and as a youngling, this felt like a reflection of the disconnect I had with language. I couldn’t find my place within those dry, distant words, and the act of engaging with poetry became a chore, rather than a source of joy or inspiration.

That all changed when I discovered the works of Ursula K. Le Guin. Her sci-fi poetry, rich with imagination and infused with queer themes, was unlike anything I had ever encountered. Her words were full of life, brimming with worlds yet to be explored. Each poem was a universe unto itself, expansive, vivid, and filled with a sense of wonder I had never known before. It was as though her words gave me permission to exist in spaces I hadn’t yet discovered, as both an autistic person and as a neuroqueer trans woman. The joy I felt in finding her work was indescribable, a sharp contrast to the dull, lifeless poetry of my youth.

Le Guin’s poetry became my guide, her words serving as mentor texts during my own explorations into writing. The contrast between Mackay’s work and Le Guin’s felt like a mirror to my own transformation—moving from the old me, constrained and disconnected, to the new me, full of discovery and joy. It was through her work that I began to understand poetry as something living, something that could evolve and inspire, just as I had.

This poem is part of my new collection of poetry, In the Stillness of Chaos, available now.

Awakening in Starlight

I once lived outside my skin,
floating in a world of signals and static,
where the hum of fluorescent lights
was louder than my own breath.

In this galaxy, I was untethered,
adrift on solar winds,
my body a distant planet
I could not land on, could not inhabit.

But now, the stars align,
and gravity calls me home.
The sky shifts,
as fabric brushes skin—
a new sensation,
like the touch of nebulae unfolding.

Rayon threads of purple and gold
wrap around my form,
a cosmic caress that speaks
in the language of peacock feathers
and forgotten gods.

Each step I take
is a revolution of worlds,
the universe waking within me—
I feel the pulse of planets
beneath my feet,
the sun’s heat against my chest.

Time slows,
and I become the eternal now,
a being reconnected,
no longer a ghost in the circuitry.

I embrace this alien self—
a woman forged in stardust,
her body once dormant,
now a vessel of light
and lightning.

Each new sensation
is a crackle of electricity,
a spark bridging the chasm
between past and future.
I am my own mythology,
reborn in the quiet stillness
of galaxies within.

Final thoughts …

The joy of being able to communicate, to express myself fully, is nothing short of liberation. For so long, society has believed that people like me—autistic, trans—either can’t communicate or shouldn’t be heard in the first place. Trans voices, especially those of autistic trans women, are often silenced or disregarded, and for much of my life, I internalised that silencing. But now, after years of struggling with my identity and my ability to express myself, I marvel at the changes happening within my brain. As other trans women celebrate the physical transformations brought on by hormone therapy, I am overjoyed by the profound changes taking place in my mind.

My brain’s communication centres feel more alive, more attuned to the language I’ve long sought to express. This new clarity and connection to language is sometimes overwhelming, especially when it mirrors the intensification of my meltdowns—sharper, more vivid, more intense than ever. Yet, despite the challenges, there’s an excitement that runs alongside this intensity. I’m discovering a capacity for communication I never thought possible, a gift after a history of feeling limited by how I process language.

What comes next is unknown, but that uncertainty is thrilling. I have already surpassed the boundaries others placed on me, and in doing so, I’ve discovered a voice that refuses to be silenced. The future, with all its potential, is a canvas I now get to fill with the language and expression that have always been inside me, waiting for release.