The result (to me) is unremarkable -
A Bowl-cut pixie with bangs.
It’s my fault. The bowl-cut, that is.
I trimmed my bangs - Too short
And now I look like the pet detective.
Yes -
THAT pet detective.
a lover of both long and short hair
I am disappointed when a child looks at me
And in their grave innocence, asks me if I am a boy
I sigh.
Exasperated.
Blushing.
Embarrassed.
The Child’s mother cringes noticeably.
I am woman through and through.
Not that that is the point.
Short hair doesn’t define
A souls femininity or masculinity
My hair is shorn because somewhere
Along the gravel road of life I decided to tell
The world I was fighting back.
the beauty rat race.
the dating scene.
the competition between friends and enemies.
The stealing of all that I knew and loved.
I cut my hair and threw it in life’s face
I dare life to keep testing me.
I dare life to take away more.
Rock Bottom as it turns out
Makes me fight back.
“I will NOT accept the negativity dumped upon me.
You shall not take more from me. I defy you.
I will fight you. I will not let you win.”
PooF -
Hair in face.
