Ode to Snake

The gods played piano on my ribs,

Each note producing golden threads,

That wove my skin together over my spine.

A gift, they said, so when they broke me,

and rebuilt me,

I would unlock new, deep melodies,

encoded into my pain.

When I shed,

I would shine

Stripped of my skins,

'thread-bare'

Yet golden,

Shimmering anew.

Raw

---But

Flexible

Messy

----And

Awe-inspiring

They wove a song so tragically beautiful,

So painful and joyful,

So intricate--

That only with each new tear or snare,

Could you begin to unlock

The complex piece I could not bare.

Yet, here I am,

Extremely exposed,

Finding my core,

Completely composed.