Molting Season

I crawl into my skin,

letting my soul sink

behind a barricade of my bones,

folding my sleeve-worn heart

into origami cranes

that nest into my ribcage.

I blur my rough, rusted edges

until every pixel of my frame is softened,

blending with the floral wallpaper

where I lean like a forgotten daisy.

I turn my voice into a whisper

softer than weaponized silence

twice as deadly,

compartmentalizing my tears and smiles

into separate boxes and bottles.

You're not supposed to mix the lights

with the dark.

Only my eyes peek out from my armor,

checking the coast,

...it's never clear.

I can still taste the salt on my lips

from licking the old scars

that you pressed upon,

fingers dripping with melted butter,

ready for a feast.

My once soft shell

now hardened,

calcified with every lie I ever believed

about myself.