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Zywa
Poems
Mar 2020
Anything but
Talking to men
who I don't know
singing along with the music
on which I dance in the eyes
that follow me
like shadows
wishing to be desired
without being in danger
dressed for it, that too
is who I am, free
to the extent it is permitted
by the hell
of other people's eyes
that love my body
and hate me for it
but that's not me
I am anything
but what they think
“Huis clos” (“Closed doors” [“No Exit”], 1943, Jean-Paul Sartre)
Collection “Webgarden”
#freedom
Written by
Zywa
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