A Me Poem.

I cut off all my hair
and I regretted it the second the woman snipped her scissors.
This hair had served me well, you know
Dealing with dye since the last time
I actually grew a fraction of an inch.
Keeping my neck warm in the withering winters of Connecticut for so many years
It didn't object each time I tried
to hippify my life, with each new shampoo and conditioning combo.
It never qualmed about the constant ponytails in summer,
leaving the wacky, unnatural waves halfway down -
or worse, each time I tried to
hipsterfy my life, with fancy updos and more bobby pins than I knew what to do with.
When necessary, my hair would hide me from the gawking eyes
Filthy lies, hide me from the cruelty of the world around me.
My  hair gave up when I let it.
It's in a legal envelope like a baby's first haircut with the last hair tie I ever used.
No longer do I pull it back in that ever-friendly, familiar way,
or pass the time braiding away
just to undo and redo it,
all over again.