by Marielle Iarathelle Trinidad

I always brushed my black locks as a kid,

Who drew the attention I used to crave

I promised that I’ll always love it that way.

With the belief of permanency, to the skies I said,

I’ll love my thick curly hair and let it stay.

As time has passed, and the air gets warmer,

I’m in front of a mirror holding shears,

With inches of locks now kissing the floor.

Maybe I’m embracing the changes,

But deep in my soul, I’m caged with fears.

Things change, and I started resenting it,

Wishing it could be straight and thinner.

I’ve changed it with all fears beside me,

Trying to mask weakness to get better.

Yet, after all that, I don’t even feel happier.

Some of my strands may live, some may die

It’ll experience twists and turns, knobs and locks

While undergoing changes I always hated

But as long as I’m breathing it’ll continue.

And it’ll stay as long as I do so.

I started realizing it wasn’t the locks I loved,

Nor its volume or deep black color.

As I grew older, with my hair set on bright red,

I started to realize that I shall let go of my strands,

And hold on to the only permanent thing in my life.

It’s me.