Snake at Your Doorstep
I won't ask you to save me. I doubt that
You can, and, anyway, that would be
Asking too much. This creature you've
Found in your doorway's almost like
A snake. I've an urge to get out of my
Skin, but I've nothing beneath it to
Bring me much comfort. I'll writhe
And I'll rage, and you'll want to be rid
Of me. Likewise, I'm keen to be rid
Of myself, but, when I search for
A more congenial skin, the ones which
I see don't seem very appealing. It's
Awful to hate who you are, and then
Realize you'd rather not be someone
Else.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2024-03-20 at 00:05
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