What I Am

I think Edie Brickell said it best, when she said, "What I am is what I am. Are you what you are or what?"

I am a snake. See me slither. Hear me hiss. Marvel as my skin falls off in huge, disgusting, patchy flakes. It could happen... but I am rather hoping it won't. I itch all over and it just won't stop.

I need to lie on a rock in the sun, but I just lie to myself.

Maybe I am about to shed my skin, be born again. Why would I resist such a thing? Here it comes, a better version of me. Wait - I'm not ready. Okay. Go. I am now ready. Shit.

Nothing. Just the itch. And the scratch.

Maybe it was something I ate. Or something someone said to me? Could it be, a simple criticism and my skin begins to burn from within? I gave the kabbalists back their red string. Said I don't need such a thing. Protection. Hmmph! I am a crab. See me side-step the issue.

But oh, this hateful tissue! So soft inside, I use my shell to hide from things I find offensive. I play defense, on the fence. In the trenches. In a sense. (Innocense?) I weather the storm. I keep it warm. I live for this. I have lied in piss.

Can you feel it? Does it make you itch?
Are you what you are or what?