Part of me worries. As we find ourselves.
I’m just cutting pieces out of me.
What will be left of me… when my impulses, confidence, and trauma are not mine to hold.
Am I… boring… they disagree… and it’s not like I’m not also them. But what’s left of bea. When all the important parts are gone. Am I just… kindness… they’re all kind…
What am I?
















