[i crave for liberation] i like cutting my hair. it hurts and it’s strange at first, but i will grow. i can’t die any longer. it feels nice to see the only remainders of me falling down the drain. it’s relieving to finally see a concrete scene of my loose ends being gone. and if recreating myself is my only power, then be it. with this metal scissor i found in my father’s sink, i can destroy the whole world. i can dance in the storm i created on my own. i can shift a high leap. i can rip myself open and be found unsightly. i can be seen. my fingers can abolish something and i can invent a catastrophe. this time, i can have my glory.
[i haven’t met all of me yet] i like cutting my hair. i like to see the new figure in the mirror even though it feels like she’s mocking me for all my regrets. it is nice to think god i no longer recognize myself i have made my hair short and i wish i could do the same with my life but i don’t want my mother to be sad. the strands of my collapsing hair pluck my skin like they’re fighting in a war but this time i have enough weapon to wash them and melt them away. this time no one will call me greedy and selfish for conquering myself. this time, i will be free.
[i am yearning for a destruction but i don’t want to stain my fingerprints with blood] i like cutting my hair. i never thought i could make this much of a change in that much silence. i have been thinking about this moment since i was seven: so this is what it feels like to revolutionize in stillness. this is how you put down your anger without having someone ripping your mouth off. this is what being a girl means. the sound of this silver matter i am holding between my fingers tingles my brain as if it was my high school bell, but this time, i am coming home by myself. this time, it’s on me.
ref: “a self-portrait in letters” by anne sexton, “witch burning” by sylvia plath, “in the storm of roses” by ingeborg bachmann
