I stand posed tightly and uncomfortably

Underneath my weighty blanket.

I hear footsteps in the hollow halls

But the blanket stays on

And I stay posed

My marble is old and tired,

Tired of keeping everything in,

Tired of holding it all together,

But I still do.

The blanket covering me

Could be removed any minute, I fear.

I hear footsteps, 

but this time they do not just walk down the hall

They do not pass me, This time they stop.

A loud thundering  noise

Engulfs the room I pose in.

I stand still in fear.

Not in fear of the noise,

But of my blanket being striped away from me.

The thundering noise stops

But I can’t breathe

I am still holding myself together

With every ounce of strength I have

In my wasted marble body

I hear another set of footsteps,

And then another, then more.

But they don’t leave the room.

They stand in front of where I am posed.

Without warning or sound,

My blanket is yanked away.

Ripped out of my earthly hands.

Light breaks into my eyes.

I pose still and tight.

People stare.

People Point.

I am Afraid.

A man stands beside me,

Telling the viewers about me.

He talks about my marble.

And my place of origin.

And why I am posed the way I am posed.

And why my face looks the way it does.

And what pieces are missing.

And I am covered in shame.

I knew my blanket would be ripped away, 

Taken from my stone grip.

But I did not expect to be so ashamed

Of what the onlookers would see

When they saw me posing.

They saw everything.

Every flaw. Every Imperfection.

Every need for improvement.

All being viewed.