Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Pilgrim


My skin keeps splitting
and I keep stitching it shut,
not yet ready to molt and discard
my beloved husk.
The eggshell keeps cracking
and I keep attempting
to glue the shards back in place
around my wet and trembling frame.
I refuse to believe
that these knobs of flesh
that sprout from my wriggling belly
could really be legs.
I will scream to the world
that these buds sprouting
from my shoulder blades
must be something –anything- other
than fucking wings.

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