i cut my hair
to cut away my demons.
it was a cry for change.
little did I know,
you had demons to show.i can't cut yours away.
i'm no barber.i hand you scissors,
and the strand was set.
but you hesitated
and dropped the shears.
leaving me with tears.i can't snip through
the fact:you can't change.
YOU ARE READING
she likes the color yellow
Poesiemy soul in poem form. i'm not a good poet, but i've learned to be vulnerable.