How odd when she cries
Her face doesn't move
Tears spilt from her eyes
They are the only proof
Of her feelings inside
How does she sooth
The sadness she hides
That distort her truth
How much has she cried
That she's no longer in tune
With her emotions, pushed aside
She had given up to pursue
When she's dying inside
There is no grimace to prove
On her face, in her eyes
Her smile holds no truth

He said he liked her hair long.

She just had a pixie cut.

So, she put down the kitchen scissors.
Letting spring and summer warm her bones.

And then he dared to say
"I miss your high cheekbones and the nape of your neck."