You can never be sure of the changes.

They start with gentle probing, a smile less straighter, a hand too big.

The progress begin to grow, weeds in the cemented parts of a sidewalk.

Voices sway to pitchy tones and surface hair trash the layer of skin.

People stare, gawk, and insult while the fort you build crumble.

You can never be sure of the evolvement.

They begin the probing but blood starts to leak, a thought populated by words.

The cycle repeats itself, morphing into a human you know longer remember scolding at in the mirror.

Emotions tramples every actions you attemps to make known.

You're only human, they say, patting a stiff hand to your broaden shoulders.

However you think- be it in clouds aimleslly or in a book tainted by man's ink- you are a  permanent change evolving into someone you will not want to be.