I don't think very many people could fully understand why I would love to shave off my hair.
I don't want to be bald,
just short short short.
I would cry.
I would feel happy.
And free.
The hair that's on my head has made me so unhappy for so long.
My whole life really.
That's why it's been every color, every length.
It's the source of my mental illness and a huge part of my daily struggle.
If it were just gone,
I would feel nothing but liberated.
I could start over.

And you might say, well do it.
But it's not that easy.
It would draw so much negative attention to me.
People might think I've gone crazy, or never stop staring.
And I'm afraid of what they'd think.
Shallow, but true.
I'm a 21 year old girl in 2016 when hair is everything.

But I dream about it. A lot.

I worry a lot.
I don't like the way things
just seem to go right now.
I want to see you more.
I'm worried that you aren't attracted to me anymore.
I worry that you don't care about me.
I'm worried you could live without me,
because I can't.
I want you to try harder.
Make me feel the way I feel about you.
Put me first, talk about me,
beg to see me.
Just let me know you still want me.

I suddenly felt like
I needed to scream
or explode or
both.
I was hunched over
trying to coax a teeny tiny
***** into place,
listening to the two women
I work with be
scandalized by some girl
doing Onlyfans.
What a *****!? What does her man think?

Ugh YUCK SHUT UP
I wanted to burst.
Instead I hurried up
to finish this menial job.
I am surrounded by
boring people who
talk about boring ****
all day.
It is killing my soul.

I have that sick to my stomach feeling.
Sure wish it would go away.
I’m worried about what he’s doing,
who he’s with
as if I have any right to even wonder.
I hate that I still love him.
Something I haven’t even wanted to admit
to myself.

Being alive is
making me
nauseous

I love when he naps
in my lap.
His arms folded across
his chest,
long legs almost hanging
off the side of the couch.
There is a painting of
him sleeping that hangs on
the wall of his bedroom,
and it is very accurate.
He’s so sweet,
and sleepy when he
smiles at me and mumbles
“You’re so pretty”
before falling back into
a quiet snore.
I’m more or less trapped here
but that’s okay.
I’ve got my **** and redbull
and him.

I’ve gotten so used to sleeping alone
that I can no longer share a bed with someone else.
Even though I lay in the dark
overloaded with anxiety and all I need
is a body to hold onto,
pet my hair and say it’s okay.
I want to make room,
I want to sleep better.
I want to open up to the possibilities of
feeling more.
But I only have a full size mattress.

I’m just laying in my bed,
waiting to go see my
boyfriend.

I don’t want to talk
Not today.
Sometimes I don’t like
having a cellphone.
I don’t want to able
to be reached at any point.
Just let me be

He smiled at me napping on the couch and then leaned over and hugged me so nicely.
He is the sweetest peach.

When you live alone
you realize there is
no one else there to
**** the spider.
You have to do it.

I already know I won’t get to ask.
At least not until later tonight,
because he won’t text me back until about 1 maybe.
It’s 11:14 right now.
By the time I hear from him I’ll be so relieved
just to get a response that I’ll chicken out.
I also don’t want to make him mad with that question as soon as he gets off work.
But my mind is spinning and sinking and I’m freaking out and I started drinking 30 minutes ago because I don’t know what else to do.
I’m prepared for him to say no.
But god I hope he says yes.

The past few nights I have
laid down to bed wiggling my feet
and squealing with excitement.
How is it possible he exists,
right here in this small town
where I thought I had met everyone
worth meeting.
He was hidden behind the old
K-mart in a suburb I had never been to.
That is only after he came here from
Minnesota.
He has soft brown hair
and blue eyes and gap in his front teeth.
His hometown accent is still
prevalent mixed with that Ohio slur.
His dad must’ve been there,
his mother must be kind,
to have raised such a good boy.
He smiles when he sees me
and after we kiss.
He reminds me of a perfect sunset in
the spring.
Orange, pink, blue and purple.
That mix of sweet warm and cool air.
No wonder it’s always been my favorite
season.
I was just getting ready to meet him.

We are so dysfunctional.
Two rams butting heads.
There never is a right, or wrong.
We know each other's pressure points.
Mine: college dropout, yet privileged by the help of the family I was born into. Alcoholic father who lies.
Him: unemployed, *******, doesn't love me.
Today, in the middle of one of our worst fights I was sobbing.
Suddenly he stepped forward and said,
"baby, don't cry."
He held me for a few seconds until he realized I wasn't going to stop and for some reason, it annoyed him.
The chaos continued.
Somehow we always end up apologizing and saying I love you I love you I love you.
We are a little toxic for each other, but too crazy for the other to end after two years.
I just think it's weird how love works.
It can cover up even the wounds we think won't heal.

I know why I'm unhappy.
Because I'm stuck.
Because of choices I made and it's too late to go back now.
I can't leave my job because I need the money and benefits.
I can't leave my apartment because I can't afford anything else.
I can't get out of my relationship because it's been almost 5 years and I take care of him.
I can't enjoy the money I have now because I need it to buy oil this winter to heat my house.
So I can't be happy because of choices I've made.
I don't see a way out.
I wish I could just accept that this is my life, but, I don't want it.

I remember going to
Toys R Us on my sixth birthday
and picking out a stuffed black dog
which became my favorite.
I named it Toto.
She has soaked up so many tears,
and really put up with a lot.

And even now, as a 24 year old woman
I sob into her fur and picture myself at 6
and can’t believe I’ve let her down.
I can’t believe how badly this man
who used to love me has hurt me.
It’s not fair.

When does it get better? Because I’ve never
seen the light for very long.

Im dreaming of colder weather,
and I'm ready for it to get dark early.
To grab a coat on the way out the door to pull over a sweater.
October will be here soon and the leaves will fall and crunch under my feet; the spooky season.
I can't wait to see my nephew turn 3 years old in November and then celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family.
I love when the seasons change, it always feels like a new beginning.

I realized I had been wrong
when I came in the door.
He was sat on the couch,
one ear bud in
quietly drawing in his
sketchbook.
He greeted me with a
“Hi pretty Paige”
and kissed me.
I pulled out my IPad and
we sat like that for awhile
until he looked at me
and said,
I missed you.
It caught me off guard
from convincing myself
he never thinks of me,
so I sheepishly said
I missed you too
and he kissed me on the forehead.
That’s when I knew
I had been wrong.
He’s an artist, he’s quiet.
He doesn’t say all that much
but I think he doesn’t
feel the need to.
He just shows it.
But I am a writer.
Words are like facts to me.
I need to hear and see the proof.
We continued to color
and draw in the quiet of his
living room,
until we walked to the gas station
to get cigarettes, a slurpee
and snacks.
He continued being affectionate,
and I tried my best to stay up late
with him.
He told me he had missed
hanging out with me like this,
and I told him I did too.
And I really had.

I like him so much
he makes long days spent snowed in feel like summer.

It was nice in the way it felt quiet
even with the roar of the wind.
I had no choice but to wrap my arms
around him and lay my head on the back of his shoulder.
He smelled good.
I noted that it would be a memory I would think about when my hair turns gray.
I used to ride on the back of a motorcycle with a guy, and smoked joints in the woods.
It wasn’t even that it was romantic,
it felt sweet.
Gentle and kind like this man I was trusting with my life.
We’ve come and gone into each other’s lives but that feeling of comfort is always there.

I never thought that being told I’m his best friend was everything I wanted to hear.
But it was.

Even when he’s
asleep he will
put his arm around
me and hold
on tight
and mumble
how pretty I am
or something
a little more private.
He is very good
with words
in moments
that I am not.

I can’t scream
much louder.
My cries and pleas
have gone unanswered.
Ten months have gone by,
we are back to the season
in which we met
but we aren’t like
we were back then.
I am in love
and he is indifferent.

I couldn’t see the stars through the ceiling of our apartment as we lay in a tent you set up in the living room.

But I could see them when I looked at you.