Shedding, molting, releasing.
A necessary process.
Apparently,
I shed millions of cells daily
(thoughtlessly)
without even feeling it.
Skin cells,
falling from me
like invisible snow.
A faint breadcrumb trail, back
to the child I once was.
Growth is cyclical.
I shed millions of selves
in this life.
Like every other living creature,
my body knows when it’s time.
I cannot hide,
I am my own witness.
Surely,
It is an act of love:
To look at what I once was,
and to know that I must
let it go.
Unbound,
I am exposed.
Raw flesh tumbling out.
Anew, again.