My First Hair Cut.

My mother had warned me that people had the tendency to hold onto past experiences. Despite how detrimental their effect may be. My mother had also said, that it is these stored memoirs that eventually can shape one. Like a touch on the surface of the skin, deep down like poison running through the veins.

My memories discard by the minute. Inch upon inch, upon inch.. The blades glide, speaking softly with severity of past loves and hurtful times. Beneath me the stable block in which I sit, stationary. As I peek through one eyes an unfamiliar face catches my gaze. A blank face being fierce in stare but withholding tired, unspeakable expression.

Snip…discarding of the selfless acts of innocence of early childhood dreams. Dreaming bigger than before, goals beyond achievement. Strands that once my mother had held, nurturing her child, reluctant of the next stages in life…. Independence.

Chills ricocheted down my spine as the callus blades thin all stored memories. To ignite a memory I once had blocked out as a precaution to my psyche. Recounting the seconds my own father walked out on us, a spiteful end to a new beginning of downward spirals. The weeks to follow of mums disappearance. Lonesome nights only to be woken by her cries and the sound of tears rushing down upon the walls we lived. Her alluring features that once entrapped my gaze, now concealed behind the cracks and crevasses bought upon by the emptiness she had felt. Her hauntingly beautiful disparity woke something in me. A faint relationship grew between the walls, now just a limp figure that inhabits the vacant rooms I wandered. I was only young, my youth being diminished in the rush for independence.

Beams of light shines through, filling the sun-drenched room in which i am stationary. Reminiscing on my first love. Mornings buzzing knowing the hours ahead will be spend with the one i trusted most. A significant other who had my heart in hands reach and who bought upon memories of pure bliss. A love that like every other I had retrieved in my life, would later let me down. Falling through the cracks of my own naivety. An idiosyncrasy that allowed for the protection of ignorance but also for people to slip through.

As each hair grows short, I am forced to reconcile with my past. Trauma that my mind has chose to tuck neatly into the back of my mind, yet my body wears bravely on each strand. I have spent years hiding behind this facade, using my appearance to mask the truth. Yet I sit here, forced to face my anxieties as I watch them fall on the floor beneath me.

“ Grow up!”.. The last words hissed through his pierced lips as his hand gripped my neck. Colours of purples and deep blues surfaced, with my heart beating in sync to the lyrics he roared. Warmth still felt when entangled in the cotton we once shared. Night after night, I lay there with his presence still vacant in the creases left beside me and the traces of a perfumed scent I once longed for. The remembrance of his touch shattering my world into a mission pieces.

I no longer recognise the girl that stares back at me, yet, I feel closer to her than ever before. A familiar stranger who's gaze leaves me yearning to learn more. She is brave, enduring more than many have ever in their lifetime yet naive enough to be concealed by her past.

Moving forward is a daunting process, I can only home the fears from her past don't follow closely in her shadows.