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.