clad in armor, your soul is too soft to
be exposed you can’t see or hear
well but god, you can feel and touch
the world with your bright claws that
have never aimed to pinch
and only tried to crack
open oyster shells that
have never held pearls
oh, you’ve never been given a treasure
swords and shields don’t last
forever, and i see your terror as
it comes time to molt
vunerability is not a tactic but
your greatest fear. the molt will
eventually kill you.
you know this as you fall to your
fragile side so you can glissade out
of your shell and for moments you
are helpless. you know the delicate
are delicacies. so you climb into a
new shell with only the guidance of
antenna
to log another shift survived
i’ve never boiled a lobster alive
they remind me too much of
you. a gentle giant hidden in
panoply existing only to molt
until the delicacy kills them
