This is a page about feeling like you are, at any moment, finally going to burst out of your skin.

It will tear away, and you will be there, soft and wet and new, but whole.

Until then, you can feel your limbs push and strain against skin that's stronger than steel, skin that is keeping you in an uncomfortable cage.

It's not all bad, the skin. Or rather, there are worse skins to be in. And it can be decorated, and scrubbed, and loved, just like anything else. Some even compliment it, or yearn after it, or envy it.

You don't always feel this way. Just when you are alone, or in groups, or walking quietly by the river, listening for the sad familiar songs of birds.