sometimesihatemycat

Old scales grow dull
They chafe and pull
My meaty insides
Squeezed to hell
I feel small bits
Begin to peel
From corners
Of my cracking mouth
The time is now
To trust and twist
Myself in knots
To scrape and tear
This used up layer
On sharp rocks
Until a new shine
Is revealed
While shocked
With sensitivities
I’ll follow need
To flee the stink
And leave behind
That curled up pile
Of shit-stained past
And small-me insecurities
For stranger paths
And brand new
Meals

-me

~ by April on March 4, 2021.

Posted in Body, Death, Identity, Loss, Nature, Poetry
Tags: Growth, Instinct, Life, Need, New, Past, Path, Poetry, Reptile, Scales, Shedding, Shit, Skin, Snake, Trust