Feel the need for change? Why and how you do it is the interesting part and should be expressed here.
My hair is waiting for me to photograph it, to post it online, to sell it, to plait, cut and mail it. Then I will disperse parts of me across the globe; one day I might brush up against these threads of my life. Perhaps I'll lean back in a restaurant chair and mingle a little with my old self.
You can't sell body parts on Ebay; that's where my clothes star in their own show, listed in order of beauty. I am changing, disppearing the old me along with its skins and each one I shed is more painful to lift; now I've reached a layer of core that screams in agony when I try to insert a fingernail. I need to peel away the pain, cut through to the heart before I'm free of this old woman.
Every day a shade more is slaked off but there is nowhere to sell it; I must weave it into something unrecognisable - it should be a work of art. I need a title, something that will move the witness to see the story of my life; it must not be camouflaged - it has to be recognisable. The conundrum is also art. I will be.
A woman in Wales has bought a dress and thanks me for perfect description and packaging; PayPal announces fresh payments every day; I am losing weight, slimming sleek and pale - even my freckles are a memory. Who shall I be?
Today I unfolded a sheet of fine fabric and cut a hole dead centre. My head pushed through, new-born into the speckled eggshell blue. I twirled in a flight of silk and flew around the room. The beating in my heart thrums in a bright rhythm like the tap tap tap of a woodpecker at the start of a new day.