Transforming by Clara Baisinger-Rosen

I’ve changed. I’ve grown taller, but my eyes seem to have shrunk. I’ve put more muscle on my arms, but my brain seems to be rusty. I’ve started to wear eyeliner, but without it I seem to have grown ugly. I’ve switched. Poetry is foreign to me, but novels are there waiting. Pop music is repetitive, but rock music brings me high. Theater is still a calling, but it’s disturbingly easy to change myself. I’m confused. I’m scrolling through Instagram, but hating every moment of it. I’m snapping back, but only out of desperation. I’m filming myself, but still waiting for that right kind of validation. I’ve changed, switched, and now I’m confused. My body is always in front of me, but I don’t know what I want to do with it. My words flow freely, but they don’t always feel like mine. My relationships I cherish, but I need them to be real.