There is a time when you look in the mirror and realize you no longer recognize yourself.
You’ve shed the comfort of the thick hide that’s held you together and kept you afloat in a never-ending current, but the hide feels flaky on your skin now.
You’re picking at it, like from too much exposure to the sun, too little moisture from the earth.
Remnants of an idea, of a story, of who occupied that skin cling on in a way that was once comfort, now simply uncomfortable.
The wave of sadness flushes over you. Consuming you.
Threatening to keep you down so long you’re sure to drown.
Look deeper into the abyss.
There’s a place beyond the shadows that holds a new idea.
An optical illusion you can learn to believe.
But for rebirth, first must come death. And death is never easy.
The hide clings to its possessor. The possessor becomes the possessed.
Take a breath, suck it in, let it cleanse you. Let you become weightless.
Become nothing, or no one, or anyone.
Take back your being.
Choose your colors. Choose your skin. Choose your reality.
This is when you can choose who you see.
This is when you can decide who you want to be.