Grave robbers

From beneath us
they called.
Rattling inside
a treasure chest
waiting to be opened.

We skulked our way in-
the strangest triangle,
and took stock
of the cadavers sleeping.

We envied them,
their quiet grace
achieved in death-
cheated in life.

At bent angles
we strayed back
carrying what was not ours,
to where we would hide
our motley crew
of body parts.

We lay amongst
the confused limbs,
where an elbow
joined a knee,
to face a torso-the hypotenuse
of a very strange triangle,

our now still
faces, licked
by the moonlight

How dare you.

I wonder when we allow someone to be the authority on who we are.
And I wonder why.

Is it fair
to be dissatisfied with placating sentences like
"Well that's came through.",
"I'm sorry, but it seemed like you meant this"
Really? And how did you know this?

By striding into my head
examining the walls inside,
where surely, where definitely
my intentions have been drilled there
permanently, to condemn me?

So, sitting across from me now
you will lay out my skull like papyrus
and speak of a history that is only written,
and show me who I am, won't you?