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.