I have come to know,
yet was stunned to see,
I am not my body truly,
and far beneath this,
my body is not really me.
My skeleton was revealed
delicate, a lacy structure,
tatted strands of bone,
this temporary housing
for my heart and soul.

Humbling x-ray vision,
seeing myself cleaned
of skin and muscle,
naked, beyond thin,
my negative image,
pressed to the light box
in three fold-out plates.
I thought I was bigger,
figured I was stronger.
THAT'S my backbone?

This is me, a birdcage,
empty hollow ribbed bars,
nothing but shadows?
Freezing in my gown,
I question my strength.
Where did my drive go,
my emotions, my nature,
my worth, my get up and go,
and why do I feel powerless,
paralyzed by this clear view?

Overexposed, I retreat,
behind closed doors,
checking the hip pocket
of the jeans I abandoned
in the changing cubicle,
sitting to settle myself,
remembering a time,
when I had the world,
by the tail, and flew by
the seat of these pants.