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 . . .