Hair

As I sit alone at home haunted by his cruel actions and words something shiny catches my eye. I find a pair of scissors that demandas me to me to take back a part of my freedom that has been wrongly taken from me. I say goodbye to the locks of hair I was once infatuated with. I take the scissors to my head with each piece I cut. I feel parts of me become whole aging. I heard a song that was once so familiar to me. As the hair falls to the ground so gracefully I start to recognize the melody. Each chop is more fulfilling than the last. The song grows louder in my heart. My hair is now short and I now know the song. My mother once sang the same song as her mother before her. The song of freedom. I do not crave his attention no longer. I lust for my own self appreciation. As the song is being sung by the women before me I now know my worth. I will never lose this melody and will sing the song of freedom to my daughter.