I Dance My I

This body is not for me, no.
It lets me sigh in it, and laugh with it, and such.
Its lovers sing its praises, naive, thinking
I am it,
this body and I.
Seen, touched, it betrays me, its slave.
It holds me yet it shuts me out and
seeks another, one that fits. While I,

I flee to where
it does not exist, to where
I did not have it once,
this lovely, spiteful body,
this trembling, dumb body,
unclaimed, refused, wide-eyed to
this traitor within, a traitor less lovely.
I must pity it, I must obey it, except

when I dance.
When I dance, I must possess it, for
I cannot dance in this body, no.
When I dance, I remember, oh yes, and
I love it at last,
this body of mine,
my body at last!