Growing up, I guess

I am becoming someone that nobody else has ever been before.

I am growing into a body,

out of phases.

Everyone I love is an imperfect, layered onion

with no discernible core . . .

and so am I.

How will I be irreversibly shaped by these experiences?

I can feel myself growing up,

and it makes me constantly on the verge of tears

and throwing up.

We’re beautiful, and we’re terrible.

We’re onions . . .

we’re human.

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