My poetry is a museum
where I keep my skins
peeling it off after
taking off all my clothes
in a place full of unknowns,
someday people pick the flowers
to bring to the graves of all the skins
I shed in the form of my words
Some gets so comfortable
they want to see every inch
of my skin
Other are too terrified
that they put daggers into my neck,
the moment I unbutton my collar button.
