BEFORE READING, A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR :

Last year I came to truly accept and embrace my asexuality. This poem is a scream and my quietest whisper.

I am dressing in non-involvement every morning
I am neither a trap set nor a prey
I am not here on my own accord
what’s more, there is something missing in my body
a cog

I walk everywhere without it
and yet my knees can bend
move in step
and yet i can feel the cold in my nose
concurrently both lungs inflate
and yet I can touch life under my chin

maybe I suffer from a hearing impairment
because I don't understand what is being said
it is saying itself
it is repeated, endlessly echoed
but it never gets through

"I don't want to be through"
I whisper on this holy planet
and yet it is a cause for regret
and yet stranger’s lips are pretty to look at 

---

A little bit about the author :

Name : Zuzana

Pronouns :  they/she

Age : 20

Location : Czech Republic

I am always looking for white rabbits under stones and on pages;

 I’m secretive and solitary like overgrown gardens and searching for an infinite understanding. I started with writing short snippets in my sketch book, snippets turned into long diary entries, turned into illustrated zines of poems. About half a year ago I bought Letters to a Young Poet by Rilke in Prague and cried reading it on a train ride home. 

“Confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.”

“To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours – that is what you must be able to attain.”

---