Jars of embalmed specimens and close friends line the walls

An audience as the sterilized needle punctures my ear, infusing flesh with strerling

Not once, not twice, but three times over

Minting my grit with gemstones that dazzle.

 

Adorned in festival fabrics it's not the first time my ears have been pierced, but a second time around has never felt so novel.

For this step in my story is momentous, even if the cadavers on the shelves don't care

permanently modified, a hallmark of growth

A minor cosmetic alteration: embalming the person I once was, preserving the being I hope to become.