The watchers

My eyelids tremble, twitch.
The tension in my shoulders is tight.
My arms are crossed and my hairs stand on edge.
They are watching me. I can feel it. Staring.
Judgement is not theirs to pass.
I refuse to be labeled.
I refuse to be pinned.
You'll never see the death of me.
I'll die by this struggle.
I'll die being myself, to my last breath.
Never shall I change again.
The watchers cant have my soul.
It's mine.
Mine.