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.