Steamed.

Shedding overused, dry, dead skin is rough on my exterior. Announcing new flesh to my surface is frightening. We are constantly in this movement of birth and death yet we never are prepared for either of the two. It never sits with you discretely. But if there was any way to shed the past and bring on new life: well, I would call that balance. It'd be like standing on new territory and pronouncing the English alphabet for the very first time. It'd be like the first time the sun ever placed it's warm, deep personality into the million of little follicles my body possesses.