shedding skin

I'm feeling a little doubtful of a) my sanity b) my abilities c) my future plans d) my fantastical wishes e) everything else

So long old self,

     that which I scarcely knew.

I cannot keep you, your ignorance

     is all I can hold.

 

It fills my burgeoning sacks,

     thickens my thighs

occasionally I may lay you down.

     and, dripping, must I scoop you up;

the fodder and ash

     of my wet paper dreams.

 

How they stick mercilessly

     to my eyes, to my brows,

newsprint greying my face and arms

     leaching into rosesque tissues as the rain comes

and the sky slithers around.

 

What use are such rags

     for building up a house?

They must rather be a half-full

     case

to bundle up and put my world in.

Reviews

[Andromeda]

i hate those doubtful moments...anyways, love this poem. especially the 'wet paper dreams' phrase.