i want to be a tarantula 

you tell me you've been watching videos
of tarantulas molting.
so, when i'm alone later that night
i find one to watch.
i cup the iPhone screen in my hands,
moving it away from my body,
as if it were a tarantula.
unable to look away,
the spider crawls out of itself,
like a glove emerging from 
another glove,
soul crawling on eight legs
out of its last body.
is it a new animal?
i wonder if maybe the molted
tarantula has vague memories 
of the other body's life, 
but, never quite remembers
having been a smaller creature.
the other body: 
crumpled like a coat 
in the corner. 
i imagine a row
of all the tarantula's skins
hung up in a closet,
the tarantula perusing
them, & forgetting that
those had been him.
i watch the video again,
over & over, fast forwarding
to the part where the spider
makes it's last tug 
& is free from the old husk,
the husk falling back,
the new body more vibrant,
orange bright fur around
each knee,
deeper black body.
i have the urge to touch 
the tarantula, i want to know
if its new body is damp,
if it's slick from bursting 
out of the first.
there must be a human equivalent
to all of this.
i sit on the hard wood floor
of my room
& inspect my skin
for points where i might 
fissure, where another
boy might come out of me,
maybe taller this time,
maybe with glowing skin 
& straighter teeth
& bigger hands. 
i open my closet,
find all the hangers
hold tarantula skins, 
a range of sizes.
the smallest ones
are crumbly from age 
so i put my arms into 
a middle-sized one, get down
on the floor & try to 
amble like i saw the spiders
do in the videos.
i pause & recreate how
they molt, slowly & deliberately
rising from the skin
heaving forward,
i worry about being caught
in the act,
like masturbating but
somehow more personal, more intimate,
i worry about you seeing me
like this,
a creature with eight legs 
on the ground
eight legs into two
i molt from tarantula 
to human & i cry 
because it felt almost real,
like i was coming out
of my skin & into a new one,
like the body i would
stand up in would
be glistening & vibrant.
i leave the skin tossed 
on the floor & watch more 
videos of tarantulas molting,
rewinding, trying to see
what it is they feel that moment 
they step out, 
regret? fear? 
whatever happens there,
i think it is something
that i can't have.
i make piece with that,
ask the tarantula to come 
crawl out of the screen,
tell me what its 
new life will be.