do you remember being
a little girl
and how your mother would
brush your hair?

every morning she
would put it up
in a ponytail
or two
maybe a braid
if things were looking
particularly
auspicious.

and every morning she
would take the tiny
jewels she carried
in her pocket
and weave them in
the hair elastics.

well, it looks like
you're older now
but you still have
things in your hair
holding you
down.

your mother's words
who you were supposed
to become
it's all tied neatly
up in your pigtails
a series of knots
no boy scout
could ever untangle.

you've taken scissors to it
enough times
i know you have
but it's no use
when they always come back
i know you're no
rapunzel
but you could be with your
tired neck.

so every night you let your
hair pull your face
down upon the pillow
and your jaw fall open
but only when it's so dark
that the eyes that are always
watching you
can't see through
the cracks
between your teeth.

you find yourself
waking up
gasping for
morning air.

or maybe you never
find yourself waking up
because in your sleep you
choke and strangle
in your own
dead weight hair.