Mirror Image

Snip, snip.

Hair falls to the ground.

Tsssss.

Another of my curls flattened.

I finally lock eyes with my mirror-self.

Is this worth it?

I look down at my lap.

The harsh barbershop light illuminates

My hands, clenched in agony.

Even then I knew this wasn't wrong;

It just wasn't me. 

Gazing into the mirror, 

I now gently touch my long curly locks

Cascading past my shoulders

Like the cold sweat dripping down my back

When the mirror did not reflect who I was.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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