the hair

sometimes in the mirror i look serious

frowny eyebrow one anxious eyebrow two

then run into each other

the messiest road accident ever

much like the labrador down this street

it has its ways

to speak anger, sorrow, pride, joy

and then my light mush

that darkens with pollution

smokes and age

a bit of really invisible hairs everywhere

not much of a forehead either

small like my ears

and then starts the flow

of ever growing hair

one on top each other

they like company

and cry when i separate them

good friends they are

the armpit does have its share

but i shave it off a habit,

the legs too like a baby’s bottom

most of the times

a nasty nasty habit

one tiny hair on my left breast,

a proud one in love with itself

the hair that ought to hide my vagina

i trim so carefully, ever so rarely

the climate here begs me to

but every time i chop, i pull, i wax, i shave

every single hair, i hate


why so willfully bear that moment of pain

why so willfully give away what my body wants

why so willfully live in denial

i think women should be hairless!

sick me.

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