Last night, I decided
I was done with my hair.
It was too long, too scraggly, and
inching into the crevices of all
I tried to think about.
Whether it was down,
pulled back, or in a bun,
it didn’t matter.
Suddenly, it was everything
wrong with my life, and
it had to go.
I finally learned from past
adventures not to grab
scissors and do it myself
in the urgency of feelings.
Instead, I pulled at it,
tied it up, tucked it back, and
waited until I finished work today to
drive to a walk-in salon in town and
have several inches chopped,
to free my head from its weight,
to take a deep breath and
move on.