Stumbling stones— tear into my marrow, test the truth of my bones. Afterwards, cool my summer with a perfect winter's cold.

I brace for the weight of a coming storm, tides of feeling pulling hard toward shores, everything in me _tightening, holding, waiting._

Thread silver through my nose—not to tame me, but to remind 
me I can still be led. Chemical reactions break open in sweat, heat confessing itself through every open pore.

 _Anxious._
_Excited._
_Frustrated._
_Careful._ 

Soft with fear and fully human—all of it is visible now, all of it offered, standing close enough for you to feel it as I perform my becoming.