Molting

Molting, molting, molting.

When I finally realized it was a reflection my own, I was staring at
A hideous, unpleasant monstrosity stood before me
A layer of glistening new skin obscured by
Leaflets of dried up, decrepit death dangling on my body

At any moment it could go
Like the last autumn leaf on a tree
The wind pushing and kicking it, commanding the deceased plant
Fall off! Fall off!
Yet the final strand remains attached

Or that loose tooth; birth’s remnants
Wedged into your gums, yet connected to nothing
Patches of raw, damaged flesh bleeding through
Exposed to the world and her extremities too soon

That reflection I see, my own
Known nothing can be done until the molting is complete
And that the days between we will be witnessing
This awkward, uncomfortable creature.
Molting

(sometimes I don’t understand my drafts. This was originally sitting around titled: Dreams – February 12, 2011. It certainly was no dream?)