I want to cut my hair
I don't want to cut my hair

It weighs me down
drags me along the
trenches of gender stereotypes

People look at me,
think,
"That's a girl."
And I'll turn the color
of diluted self-harm blood; pink.
Maybe I'll give
Being androgynous
a whirl.

It gets all knotty
I keep it in a dull, bland ponytail
I don't think it deserves more
Nor I

But if I cut it,
I'll still be in the stereotype

Here,
Another Queer!
Look there,
At their hair!
Probably gay,
By the way!

And what if I look stupid besides?