As I Sit beside this lonely tree
I count my blessings one, two, three
Looking up to into the branches
I Close my eyes and think about my chances
For a moment a glimmer of light
Perhaps I can have what I want in sight
Dark clouds loom in the background beginning to spiral around
Rain begins to fall
But the tree still stands tall
What it would be like to be this tree
To stand there so strong and free

I'm cutting my hair.
My mom thinks it's cute,
But I don't really care.
You touched it so it now means nothing but split ends and bleach in my skull.

I'm cutting my hair;
You're not welcome here.
I hope you hate how it looks and I hope my dad hates it, too;
New season new me is the cliché I chose.

I'm cutting my hair:
I like it more than I ever liked you.
You are dead ends and fine words.
I hope my dust fills your lungs and you long for me;
But I don't care,
I'm cutting my hair.

I'm cutting my hair because it's gross,
More gross than you and your venom kiss.
I'm cutting my hair because it's cute;
I'm cutting my hair because I despise you.

I’m at the sink holding scissors and razors;
I wish they were as sharp as your eye for imperfection.
I look in the mirror,
But I don’t see myself;
I see someone stronger and wiser and better than you.

Can you recognize such a pretty little thing?
Makeup smeared across my lips,
Chunks of blonde missing?
Would you even care if these scissors slip,
Scaring my face and obstructing your view?

Did I ever mean anything to you?

But why do I care?...
I already cut my hair.