The Cut That Made Me Hide

A cracked mirror, porcelain sink—

strands dark, caught and curling tight.

Buzz cut chunks, a jagged line,

not the fade I asked that night.

Fingers trace the uneven break,

a patchwork scar I cannot shake.

Each glance a snarl, each look a cut—

the shame like cold beneath my gut.

Sink drain holds the fallen bits,

tiny thieves of confidence.

Tomorrow’s hair will cover less—

but today, I wear my mess.