I am not my past.

I have shed

the past like the way

a snake sheds its skin,

slowly yet deliberately until all of it has fallen,

fragmented and ragged to the ground.

I am not my past. 

Like the autumn tree when dead leaves

fall from every branch and bark twists

off in thin slices

all necessary for

new growth. 
I am not my past.  I have shed my past

like a caterpillar who builds its chrysalis

to sleep inside

willing its wings to emerge.