Ginger Curls

I cut my hair

Ginger curls fall through the air

Land on the tiles on the kitchen floor

I smile as I skip

To the chip shop next door

They say - Oh, son of a gun!

What have you done?

You looked so nice… before

Bag of chips in hand, I run outside

Searching for somewhere dark to hide

Need to contemplate

This weird sensation,

Eat my chips to calm my agitation…

I’m split in two

Someone old, someone new

Who oh who

Does my hair belong to?

I run down the street

So light on my feet

Try to act merry and free

But in a shop window

There’s a reflection of me

Who is this girl I can see?

I stop and stare

Feeling over-aware

Before… I could just… be

Next day at school

Teacher says those trousers will not do

Wear a skirt like the others; you could be pretty, too

And she adds: it’s a pity about your hair

Your crowning glory…

Now I’m in despair in this story

Scissors in hand

My strength on the floor

I am Samson

But I am Delilah, too