121615- Cutting Hair

In the mirror I was not who I had been

Before my hair grew long, down past my waist,

A mass to take in stride like a sweet memory,

Honey silk and thick syrup dripping,

suspended, swaying from my tired head.

For every inch contained wanting.

I cut it one night,

I took up the scissors, lusty and curious,

then again, again,
An affair of the art of reshaping a memory to suit my reflection.

Not caring about stopping. Down the strands fell, a relief

Not like a hair cut.

A practical craving

satisfied in an act of shredding.

When I stopped, the weight that fell mocked me

How did I carry it all so long?

I was strong. I was ashamed.

I wanted for the sake of wanting.

I was good.

And now I am better,

A lighter body in recovery from unbearable thirst.

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