The Cut

The reflection wasn't right.

Too much of me, hanging there.

So I grabbed the kitchen shears,

the ones that never cut bread right.

They felt cold and heavy.

And then, the first big chunk fell.

Like a dark curtain,

onto the linoleum floor.

Another, and another.

A pile grew.

It wasn't neat.

It was a mess.

But it was off.

Finally.