Itâs like youâre taking a red pen to my identity. Crossing out the parts that you donât like as if Iâm a rough draft and those parts will be omitted later. But hereâs the thing: Iâm not a draft and when you treat me like one I take those red marks and Carry them around on my soul. It makes me feel like Iâll never be complete or right because the person who made me canât face me.








