Bailey Sims

SNAKESKIN

shed your past like snakeskin
every few months—fold up dead cells

and tuck them in boxes, push
them away into cabinets full

of duplicates. look at the years collected
all the way to the beginning.

in those first boxes you’ll remember
why you started leaving yourself behind,

the two different people
you were raised to be, each

with grafts and stitches covering patchwork
flesh. you used to wonder which one

would make it out alive
when you were old enough to choose—

but instead, you locked every shell away, found
someone entirely new beneath each scale.