Short hair chronicles

 

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Image source here.

 

‘You’re going to get your hair cut short! How exciting! A shoulder length layers cut?’

‘No. Short.’

‘Ooh a bob then! You’ll look like an adorable doll!’

‘No. Short.’

‘Um. Shorter?’

‘Yes. A pixie.’

‘Oh.’

Silence.

 

Why the short hair, woman?

What about the waves in your hair and the dream of flowing locks?

Did no one tell you men find long hair attractive?

Doesn’t your man hate short hair?

Would it kill you to keep it long for him, for them?

 

Why the short hair, you ask.

For the way it makes me feel.

For the way it sets me free.

For the admiring stares women give me,

Enviousness for my courage in some looks

as if capturing me in their bucket list photobook.

 

For the wild, free girl inside me

who needs to re-learn how not to give a fuck

not to take every word from every schmuck

not to give everyone a space in her heart

And what better way to bring that back

than to look like I’ve always wanted to?

 

For it ignites in me a strong blaze

of confidence not defined by things we call good hair days

Ready, always, in two minutes

my self-assurance my only tool.

 

For how it makes me feel pretty

And rescues my battered self esteem

For my long neck and higher cheekbones

For the cut of my jaw, big eyes, collarbones.

 

For the sheer power it gives me

The poise it makes me feel

My life is shaped by incidents where I had no control

Look at me seize it now, look at me roll.

 

For the happiness it gives me

To explore myself, to find what I could be

Newer pieces of me, every day,

Every reflective surface a delight to see.

 

My femininity is mine to decide

Not yours to criticize, not yours to judge, nor yours to feel.

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