scissors cut my doll’s

red yarn hair first—tried

cutting my own because

short wasn’t allowed

and I never had a sister

around—gave up for

a while because ballerina

was in style and short

didn’t work if I wanted

good roles so I sat on

that thought and let

it grow out for a while,

but every time I got just

a trim I would look up at

the stylist and beg,

“just a bit more?”

then smile as I saw the

thin pieces join the hair

covered floor.

grew up, but that wasn’t

enough—shoulder length,

then at-the-jaw bob,

to fresh undercut, and

back to asymmetrical lob.

I felt freer each time, but

with too much room to grow

I knew a short pixie cut was

the next thing in stow—

since day one that emma

watson shook the world

with her men-style bold

hair cut I saw what my

future could hold—brave

soul, no fucks, about what

boyfriends said or hook-ups

I didn’t care what they had

to hold onto in bed—if they

didn’t enjoy it, I’d gladly sleep

with women instead—never

mind what my family said

about gender norms and what’s

ladylike in church, I knew it

would feel right, so I said,

“fuck it” & did it. not a moment

has gone by where I’ve felt

remorse for cutting it.

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