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True to
myself
Sometimes I’m true to myself.
Like when I buy rose and violet-scented soap
As presents, and keep it for myself.
Or go out onto the balcony at night
For a moon-bath without a stitch on.
Or wear earrings under my hair
Just for the feel of them, or hang
Half out the window to see a rainbow.
The same goes when I make up stories
About foam islands in the bath, or eat
Acorns to find out what they taste like.
But it’s especially so when, by the fire
That ‘only causes work and dust’
I feel behind me millennia of people
Watching the flames through my eyes.
by Damaris West
Read the story behind this poem
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