hot pink stripes falling from the sky.

deep brown waves and pale fingers falling from my head.

kneeling in a field behind a church with a razor to the back of my neck

and hoping that in that sunset,

in the nests and animal homes that my hair will compose,

i’d find the true point of grace.

mahan said matthew 5:29 wasn't supposed to be taken literally to life,

but two girls cut disgrace off my head

with my dad’s beard trimmer and an army knife,

and now i only hope God cuts it out of my dread.

 

i'll kneel once more behind grace point

and write Him a letter in red ink that no one but He will have read:

our Father who art in heaven, please cut off my whole head.

put something else on there that’ll work more,

because what's there that worked doesn’t work anymore.

the eyes don't see and tongue just lies,

and the ears can't perceive what's important,

though they try.

 

to shave my head, it's not a big deal.

i just wanted to see You, to know that You’re real.

if i offer You my shame and take some of Your grace,

give me new eyes, so i'll see Your face.

i'll dig up my lies and bury the red letter.

i'll pray to the Lord that i'll finally get better.

i'll tell him forgive me, Father, i don't know what i do.

 

now they think i'm crazy.

they say it's seasonal,

but when rain falls in spring,

it falls in winter as well.

sometimes it turns the world pink and green,

and sometimes it paints it shiny and white.

it'll spill down my neck when people are mean,

but i’ll keep my head on because you gave it to me,

and i know You're good,

and You’re always right.