I cut my hair today. Finally the inches and inches of it. All gone. I never cut my hair. It has been to this date nine years since I have cut it.
When my father died I took off 7 inches of my beautiful Lakota hair. Today I cut off ten.
I watched my mother in a full blown panic attack and realized that she and I have had enough. She and I have been to hell (only to go straight back). The hair is bundled and ready for the ocean. I took my hair to the ocean nine years ago for my daddy. Now I cut it again. My Grandmother past away this last month but in truth, that has nothing to do with anything that comes to my silly hair.
I cut my hair to invoke change, to acknowledge change, to become one with it.
I am within public display of my horrid, painful folly.
I cut my hair because the past is dead. Because the past has become so painful I cannot breathe.
I cut off the past, I found my husbands arms covered with my own tears. Without the past I do not know who I am. My hair is gone, my beauty, my pride. Now I feel worthless. Now I can become worthlessness. I only can accept that I am what I am with or without my precious hair.
If I had balls, they would be very engorged. It took all of my strength to cut my past from myself and face still, my own face. Hair or no hair, God or no God, dreams or no dream.
I could feel the knife upon my vein (oh, how I wanted it). I can still feel the clean cut that severs me from all of this. But I took the blade to my hair, not to my life.
Death screams to me but I chose to sever the ghost of the past. Not sever the ghost of the future.
Blade covered with hair, not blood. I am satisfied by this.