The morning has stopped being an event and started being a fact. The room is full — all four voices at once, easy in the same space, each of them being, openly, the most alive version of themselves. And a question arrives that isn’t the one you’d expect. Not what do I do now. Something older and quieter: who have I been all this time, underneath?
The self you have understood → the self you declare
Chapter Twelve of Reimagining Rebellion. The ninth-grade poem, the four words that opened the door, and the one you locked away to belong.
