The One Where I Looked Away

Buzz. Snap.

Clippers rushed like they had a deadline.

Hair fell in chunks —

stubborn stains on the bathroom floor.

I caught my crooked reflection,

wild edges sticking up like defiance.

The barber’s hands trembled,

but never slowed.

I wanted to look away,

but the mirror held me hostage,

a mess made permanent in silence.

Half the strands pointed north,

the rest lost in no-man’s land,

a haircut shaped by trembling hands

and careless glances.

I learned then:

control is a thin line,

snipped uneven,

never quite what you hoped.