Take My Hand Cause' We're Walking Out Of Here... - D.M.B.

A new hair cut.

I cut my own.

I snip the split ends, like I wish I could snip the problems of the world: Cleanly off.

I trim two inches.

Not enough.

Two more.

Wait a few days....

Another few inches hit the floor.

Feather, feather, feather.

Kelsey taught me this...

Just a little at a time.

Even isn't the issue.

Layers.

Like ogres and onions and my home-done haircut.

Long.

So long.

Grow it out, trim it up, cut it off.

Shorter?

Sometimes I wish it was.

Sometimes I wish for red fuzz a quarter inch off my scalp.

What message would that send the haters?

I am my own me.

The boss of my body.

Self-esteem tangled in hair.

Red hair. Redhead.

Should I dye it blonde?

Change.

I want the world to change, but fighting though I am, it's not. Not yet. Soon, I hope.

Appearance, image, esteem.

Challenge my own opinions of myself.

Will I be less me with a buzzed head or platinum locks?

Someday I'll have the guts.

Maybe sooner rather than later, I'll take more of a chance.

For now, I just dare to cut my own hair.