This Skin

This Skin

I am not this skin,
this tattered, ragged bag of bones,
these sunken eyes and dirty, chewed-up fingernails.
I’m not these generous curves and long legs,
these thin lips and misshaped knees,
the way I balance in my heels so I don’t fall down.
I’m not the sway of my hips or the bounce in my step,
the fall of my hair in waves down my back,
or the way my eyes used to light up
when he entered the room.
I’m not this earthly vessel,
it’s just here to convey me from one life to the next.
I’m the soul, the complex web of heartstrings,
the anger, the courage, the love, and the fighter within.
I am not this skin,
I am not this face or this weary smile,
I am not these tired, tear-stained eyes.
I am not anything of yours anymore.