The hair tie buried itself in my hair
like it knew I wouldn’t fight hard enough.
I pulled at it,
but the strands only tightened-
a quiet knot I couldn’t undo.
The brush waited.
I couldn’t lift it.
So I went to my mother crying,
head bowed like a child
who lost something small
but felt it break something bigger.
She didn’t ask.
She freed the knot,
brushed my hair slowly,
washed it,
blew it dry in warm quiet.
Then she braided it
the way she did
when I was five.
Her hands knew
I’m not five.
I could do it myself.
If my mind
would let me.
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 3:47 PM UTC
The hair tie buried itself in my hair
like it knew I wouldn’t fight hard enough.
I pulled at it,
but the strands only tightened-
a quiet knot I couldn’t undo.
The brush waited.
I couldn’t lift it.
So I went to my mother crying,
head bowed like a child
who lost something small
but felt it break something bigger.
She didn’t ask.
She freed the knot,
brushed my hair slowly,
washed it,
blew it dry in warm quiet.
Then she braided it
the way she did
when I was five.
Her hands knew
I’m not five.
I could do it myself.
If my mind
would let me.