You like to think of yourself as a creative spirit, one that takes each of life's lemons and makes lemonade (preferably with some sort of alcohol involved). Yes, indeed, you pride yourself on your creativity, and balk at those who say you're just plain weird.
Even more people called you weird when you decided to write a poem about your spider veins. Most people in your situation wouldn't embrace their spider veins, they would do everything they could to get rid of them. Have you, Oh Creative One, ever heard of a dermatologist?
Oh, dermatologists, you laugh in the face of all dermatologists who would dare try to eradicate your spider veins! Clearly your friends, and indeed dermatology profession, have been misinformed about your oddness. Don't they understand that each new mark on the body is a keynote of life? Each and every spider vein, mole, what have you, can be a potent muse!
You sit down at your desk, and contemplate how you might honor your veins. How might you personify them? To compare them to spiders is far too trite. Just when you think that you can't think anymore, the though occurs to you: Why not compare them to a lover, ravaged by age, but forever indelible upon your skin?
Oh, you're too much of a genius for your own good - no really, don't be humble, you are! Two hours and several pieces of scrap paper later, you've completed your ode. To all those who might smirk at your ode, you obviously, and quite simply, laugh in their face.
