do we build up or dissipate over time?
i pick
pick, pick, pick, pick away
that’s one thing that never changes.
pick on myself, pick myself, pick myself up.
my skin is raw again.
oh, i’m bleeding.
today was the first day i thought my feet started to look like my mother’s.
we carry the same shape.
am i breaking down into a shell over time?
oh god, i’m turning into my mother.
i see my mother breaking down into what was once my grandmother.
but i don’t get it.
every day, more happens at me, to me, in me.
you’d think there’s more to me.
maybe i pick it away.
until all that’s left,
is
pick pick pick.