Living Poetry

This week let’s write a molting poem. Have you ever wanted to shed your skin like a snake or slough off your exoskeleton like an insect? Would it hurt or be cathartic or both? 

Molting arlene s bice

so i shed my skin that i wore at the time

when i realized it was not the real me

picked up my house and left that unhealthy corner

to find where i belonged, who my people were

would i recognize them just by looking

how to know i asked myself

but i didn’t answer me

the search began, my eyes peered into windows

looked down every alley, talk, talk, talk

until there was nothing left to say

so i began to listen while my mind opened

little by little, expanding, filling

without my notice an outer layer had formed

it looked quite alike with a tinge of difference

then the call came inviting me to lunch

“of course,” i replied, “i’d love to” i said

the inner glow showed through

matching one that blossomed within me

as i listened, as i talked i knew

no more searching needed

i had molted and found home.

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