Museum of myself

I resign myself to exhibition
a museum dedicated to my innards,
blood on my gloves as I dissect myself alive.
With tarnished brass labels
I will assign meaning to the parts of me
that are pinned like butterflies to the cork.
All of me is viewable, understandable,
all oddity attributed to my classification,
An archive of labels and diagnoses.
Take a map, look through the labyrinth,
observe with impassivity
my essence stretched behind dusty glass.
Each atom observed, diagramed, and framed,
and if you follow the footsteps on the floor
you'll learn to understand me.