It's the almost liking that's the hook isn't it not the love not the belonging just this flicker of possibility this almost-acceptance that dangles there like a goddamn carrot on a string i should shave my head again just to see if they'd notice the way the light catches the curve of my skull it's not about being seen it's about knowing if i'm still real under all this new skin i almost drank the kombucha just to prove i could swallow the uncertainty but it's not about that either is it it's about the quiet and the clay and the almost-person in the mirror and maybe i am worth loving even if i’m still deciding who to be. the pottery instructor said yesterday that my hands were confident maybe she saw the person i’m trying to be even when i can’t.