Wednesday, 6 March 2013


this is a poem I wrote at a workshop ran by the V&A museum as part of their LGBT history month event. the workshop facilitator assures me that there's no such thing as bad poetry, so here goes (it's not like anyone reads this, anyway...)

here I am, stripped,
"artistically" concealed and revealed
for my audiences pleasure,
or maybe just to slip under the radar of censorship.

I face the camera with a level stare,
and feel naked in a way that has nothing to do with clothes.
but what does my face reveal anyway?
and is anyone bothering to look?

I am sexually empowered.
that freedom is mine to take.
I can strut my stuff and seek gratification however and with whoever I please
so why don't I?
what's wrong with me?
why does the leather, the soft skin, the gasping breath not thrill me?
why don't I seek that which I'm told was the pinnacle of our longed for liberation?

because yours is the only voice.
the chains that encircle my body entrap my mind.
this is freedom.
I have to want it.

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