Poetry

I shed my daytime skin like silk, let it pool at my ankles— all the careful words I wore, the practiced smile, the measured breath. In this small room of mirrors I am multiplied and singular, a thousand versions of myself trying on the truth. The light bulbs hum their yellow song. My reflection waits, patient, for me to recognize her— the woman I've been becoming in the spaces between who I was and who I'll be, in this threshold moment where everything transforms.