Most mornings, I wake
and imagine myself lizard—
nails running over rust-gray
puckerings, peeling centuries
blood into dust
when the old skin wears too ancient

I never know if I’ll emerge—
sloughed-off history
showing soft new smooth,
breathing fresh

or when my mask
will slip—reveal monster
underneath:
past deeds etched deep
within each canyon crinkle

If I live every day
as lizard—hide human
in the bumps
of my scars

I won’t ever
have to question
whether love could touch
ripped-stitch lips
on desert face

—————

Rebecca Y. Lee is a queer/bi Taiwanese American poet born and raised in Southern California. At 22 years old, she is graduating from Smith College in May 2015 with a degree in the Study of Women and Gender. Her current interests lie in explorations of identity (race, queerness, disability), fantasy and science fiction imaginings, and metaphorical monster-ness. She enjoys young adult fiction, too many TV shows, and all kinds of food—especially avocados and bubble tea. Read her work at witchintransit.tumblr.com, and follow her on Twitter @Rebecca_Y_Lee.