Mirror Image
Snip, snip.
Hair falls to the ground.
Tsssss.
Another of my curls flattened.
I finally lock eyes with my mirror-self.
Is this worth it?
I look down at my lap.
The harsh barbershop light illuminates
My hands, clenched in agony.
Even then I knew this wasn't wrong;
It just wasn't me.
Gazing into the mirror,
I now gently touch my long curly locks
Cascading past my shoulders
Like the cold sweat dripping down my back
When the mirror did not reflect who I was.
This poem is about:
Me
My community