(November 21st,2023)
Looking back at old pictures
Back when my hair was my prison
It's hard to let go of the need to not look anything like the girl that was trapped inside her head
Begging to die
Every single night
If the pills didn't work
Just about twenty more in the morning
I'm scared to grow it out
I don't know why
But it's like when it's long it holds everything I forgot to say inside
Having it up, left me vulnerable
And down, silenced me
It was the duct tape
Only it was around my wrist and ankles too
Ties tighter and tighter
Like I'm being stretched out
I want to grow it out
But I haven't tried for two years now
I just hope
If I ever do
I know that every single strand belongs to me
And try to remember how I wear it
Is up to me
It's not locked and loaded
But it feels like every time I've tried to grow it out
My trauma holds a gun to my head and plays Russian Roulette
So I cut it
Because it cuts away all its secrets
Until there's nothing left
YOU ARE READING
Your Struggles is What Creates Your Depth
PoetryA collection of poetry,and random thoughts written when I was struggling to find my way.
