new skin

The pressure is amazing. Bullet holes, sunlight fingers into an empty hull. A now familiar cocktail: dull ache shaken with sharp knowledge that if this button is pressed your world will come apart. But what if you long for self destruction, for some kind of change, what if you're convinced that you are a Selkie, trapped in human form while a man holds your skin? what if you long for the ocean like breathing, but love of what you have keeps you here or maybe it is fear, fear of losing that strips you of your skin again.

Then one day you find your smooth seal skin hidden in a closet behind so much accumulation, your heart races to ocean wave as you remember who you were, what you could be again. it is that decisive moment that is ripping, that is 2 parts hesitation and 3 parts revelation that will decide who you are now. Who you were, does it matter? You have grown new skin, hairless and alien, taking place of the smooth water-born pelt that housed you so long. Why is this new skin not enough? Why do you long for the cold ocean, the gliding freedom? Why is anything just not enough?