if i had to put into words
the sour feelings in which i had toward your
hold onto me; rather an explanation of the joys as well,
i would start by analyzing your complex personality to
my hair.
as if a security blanket of tiny strands had not been enough
to hold my satisfaction.
too afraid to cut off, and watch fall to the floor
the pieces of the past.
the dead and dry ends of your humor
these feelings: an etching of the damage i so willingly forced
to make it look absolutely perfect in my eyes.
they say, they mock actually,
the presence of change in a woman,
a mark of symbolic movement into the future.
a haircut.
well i have changed
just as you have
but the maintenance of it as well; has become much too expensive for my taste.
the highlights were always too bright: but remarkable
because not only did it change the way my hair looked
but my whole appearance.
isnt that silly; to compare you to a completely
unrealistic dead component of myself.
yes i think so as well.
but as i am changing i realize: that you are very much alive
and so are you growing.
and with it bringing back the joys of the past; a new root in our bond  
the ones i should have remembered
before the haircut.