Mirror holds a jagged line

Mirror holds a jagged line,

where hair used to lie even.

Bare patches catch the bathroom light,

a patchwork quilt of mistakes,

scissors hurried, rough and loud.

I tug my hat lower, a poor disguise,

wanting rain to wash it all away,

but the cuts are stubborn, clinging

like winter’s chill beneath my skin.

Snip snip,

I’m undone,

a ragged edge to a careless moment.