What if I am not this skin?
Not this weight of flesh and breath—
but a thing that moves like wind,
slipping through cracks, uncatchable.
I could be fire, burning without end,
or water, wild, devouring land.
No bones to break, no blood to spill,
just the endless hum of something untamed.
Not human, not bound—
just being, in all that being can be.