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.
