i used to cut my hair
whenever i craved a reset—
like shedding strands
could erase
what hurt.
like shorter meant lighter.
like less
meant healed.
but now
i'm letting it grow.
letting time
do what it must.
learning to carry the past
without wearing it like a name.
my hair is growing—
and maybe,
maybe
so am i.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem