Friday, May 4, 2012


( I wrote this 3 years ago when I was recovering from a fall skiing and tore several ligaments. I recently found it and always liked it. It's especially appropriate because after a long hiatus from taking care of my physical body I am getting back into shape and it feels so good and long overdue)



I need to step outside of my worldly body right now.


I am unzipping my skin and allowing it to slink to the ground.


I reach my arms above me and lean forward to grasp the base of my head.


I dig my nails in deep into the layers of my skin and peel my scalp away like an orange peel.


Flesh and hair dangling and rolling down like several layers of thick latex being pulled off an old radiator painted over too many times.


Shaking my head loose as I lower the flesh from my face, like lowering a turtle neck overhead.


My eyes and teeth now bare and unprotected.


Peeking in the mirror I am not repulsed, for I am me.


No flesh will define who I am.


No color to my skin to denote a race.


No texture or clarity to my complexion.


No complexion at all.


Just staring eyes.


Unblinking and all seeing.


For, one can't miss a trick if one's eye are never again to close.


The freedom from my skin so enticing I want to remove the rest.


It comes easier now as I reveal my neck.


I'm pulling my arms out from the tight confines of my epidermus.


Degloving the layers down to my finger tips and freeing each finger one by one.


The soft supple tissue of my breasts now exposed as I continue.


Unraveling down my torso like I am wriggling out of a dress.


It's like Christmas morning uncovering my muscles, tendons and ligaments from their ornate wrapping realizing thats all it is.


A wrapping, a covering, a protection.


Peeling away down my legs like fishnets taken off by a lover gently on one leg and then ferociously on the other. Just to speed this to the finale.


As I stand bare and unprotected in my reflection.


I wonder what is a reflection.


It is simply our interpretation of our appearance.


I then remove my eyes from their sockets. Nestled in their home. Their place in my face and their role in me and my perception of me.


Me? Who am I? Well I am who I am, not who I see.


In essence aren't I just the soul that resides here. In this body. This being. This system of organs functioning to carbonize the air.


Continueing I grip the muscles of my legs and yank them apart like a fat man eating buffalo wings.


Snap, snap!


Tendons and ligaments resounding their anger in my choice to disassemble them.


Falling to the ground now because my legs will not support me, I continue.


I continue until I am as far as I can go before I can not disassemble any further.


Knowing I will never disassemble myself down to the soul, my physical limitations of such an endeavor alone are impossible.


But it is my soul I search for.


I want to expose it and parade it.


I want to rejoice in it's purity, and celebrate it's beauty.


For my soul is who I am.


Not any of the outward displays you see when you SEE me.

1 comment:

  1. Thats a really good post. I really enjoyed it and thought that it was interesting. I have some siblings who have the same kind of stories with travel nurse and other physicians. I think that its really interesting.