My hair is an untameable wave that cascades
down my back and is an even flowing river that drapes
onto my shoulder blades and biceps.

As I sit in the swivel chair waiting for the scissors to
shear off the last dead ends, I think of you.
With these ends, you'll be disappearing, too.

You haven't touched me in over two years, now.
As wisps of hair drop off onto the tile below my feet,
I can be rest assured that a new beginning has dawned.