Prose in: Metamorphosis


The process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another.

Anger moves through me, like water passing over sand at the beach. It’s something that I welcome. As the tide rolls back, I feel the cooling of my muscles as they contract. I don’t feel that way much anymore. I then think of everything that is so-called “lost.” Friendships. Relationships. Emotions. They phase in and they phase out. The end of 2018 is here and 2019 can be seen over a small but still terrifying hill and I wonder what is waiting for me as I go over.

All and different versions of me stand in a circle, surrounding my soul. Who shall I pour myself into? What ‘me’ is going to get the best ‘me.’ I still feel myself phasing from time to time.


Existence or experience beyond the normal or physical level.

I can see me and then I can see the real me. The core of my being pressing against the inside of my body. Hot as fire, begging to get out. Astral projection is not something I ever wanted to mess with, but what do you do when you can see yourself from above? Watching yourself laugh. Watching yourself work. Watching yourself fail.

These connections with people aren’t so innocent anymore. These aren’t just words in simple conversations anymore. I can feel energies, emotions, and I can see futures. At least for where this will take us and most of this, if not all of this, seems pretty meaningless. All of these physical connections have very little bearing on me; nothing compared to the waves that wash over me after leaving the presence of people, those that feel like strangers. It’s really fucking strange.


A process by which one figure, expression, or function is converted into another that is equivalent in some important respect but is differently expressed or represented

Same but different. I still love to laugh. I still love to cry. I still love to love. But something’s got to give, and I’m tired of it having to be me. Remember those phases? I want to control the movement of mine. They seem smooth but choppy, cascading over the beach. Like as if a storm is brewing, or there’s too much warm air. But I want it to be cool. A serene transition from one being to the next. Not so much as physical, but emotional, mental. I don’t want anxiety being the main pusher of this new level. I’m ready to see me as I see me. I don’t want my circumstances to be the main platform of presentation. I am not this person, even when I feel like her.

I want it to be healthy and long-lasting