Cutting My Hair

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Letting my hair down with one simple twist

To waft in the breeze without obscuring my vision;

A novel sensation.

Once it was long and tamed,

Now short and wild.

A wild child steps forward, shakes her head with abandon

And cries:  “I am free!”

I haven’t cut my hair in eight years.

Trimmed, certainly, but cut?

I wasn’t bold enough to take that step.

I was warned as a child, “Don’t cut your dolls’ hair, ’cause it won’t grow back!”

Have I been a doll all this time?

Eight years of snarled stress and pain caught in the tangles of brown curls.

I grew it long because fantasy women wear their hair long

In battle-braids while soaked in blood,

Free-flowing in dramatic poses on mountain tops.

I thought it would make me beautiful and strong.

But like Samson I was duped by my own Delilah.

Instead of vitality, it weighed me down with knots of uncombed regrets.

What a strange feeling, the metal scissors shearing away carefully, tightly braided locks,

Twelve inches of split ends, split lives, split hearts. 

I might still be weak and un-beautiful.

This style may make me look poofy and silly.

But it doesn’t bother me this time.

My head and heart feel light and new,

Relieved of a burden unnoticed until its absence.

I do not know what sort of thing I have become.

For now I feel buoyant and calm as I run fingers through short, feathery curls.

No brush necessary,

Unfettered, unhinged, unrepentant.

I will see what this new vista holds for me.

By Hikari Katana 

(Read more of Hikari Katana’s works at her Deviant Art Page)

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