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.
