I am not these judging numbers,
Sewn crudely into place,
Upon the material that lines my waist.
I am not the quick laughter of an evening,
A stolen kiss, a lost embrace.
I am not the answer to the questions of your fate.
I am not this dotted flesh,
Speckled carelessly across my form.
I am not these yellow bones
That shake and shatter in the storm.
I am not this dying voice
That drones and cracks and threats to lull.
I am not this powdered face,
Which hides the horrors of my skull.
I am the knowledge of a thousand mistakes;
The scars, the memories, the bruises and breaks.
I am the strength gathered over the years,
The ability to abolish the deepest of fears.
I am the light in the darkest night,
And the calm before the fight.
For I am more than just this human tin;
I am the soul that lives within.
