Who I Am

Do not tell me to be another version of me.

That I should be everything a lady should be, that I must grasp a handful of gravel without leaving a crumbling trail of dust behind.

I am human.

Dust, I know, will always fall.

And so I will take the gravel, and hold it as I do. See me. Watch with curiosity the hand that scoops and claims the fragile dust of the earth like no other.

For I am who I am.

I am. Who I am.

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