i let the water
wash away
what was left of you -
scrubbed away at
indignation and denial
until all i had to hate was
the truth.
the blow drier left
my hair frizzier than usual,
so when i caught
my reflection,
even that seemed
foreign.
different.
wrong.
broken didn't apply
until the
implications
of that truth that i so hated
sank through layers of
brunette curls and
rigid fingers,
that could have been better
at holding it all
inside my head.