Dramatic Haircuts and Promises

by hellorousseau

My winter break was filled with nothing but work, Christmas parties, my PT cruiser freezing to death, and a little stress over the fact that maybe my hair will never be as long as it once was.

After years of not giving a flying ‘eff about my hair, the fraying tips and dry strands caught up with me. In July, I cut my hair into a bob in a Mulan-esque sequence that took place in my washroom with a bottle of wine (adult decisions, I know). It was dramatic, and unlike anything I had done before, but I was ready to cut off my tumbleweed split-ends.

Yeah. I used a sword and everything.

But now, winter break is done, and I am to get back into the swing of things. In the next few weeks, I hope to update Hellorousseau with stories, experiences, and points of view on body positivity. As I try and figure out how to be the most comfortable and happy, I’ll update my blog with neat new things for your eyeballs to enjoy.

So, before I get my existence back into the swing of things, I’ve decided to share a light poem I wrote about hair.

I like my hair; it’s thick, you see,

it falls about, and strings to me.

Long threads cut short, then long again,

my hair’s a bitchy, loyal friend.

Dry, slick or none or in-between,

crimped and dirty, straight then clean.

Messed bun on top, uneven trim,

the sides are shorter, cut on whim and

fingers pull, hair torn from roots,

red ribbon- lace- is always cute to

“Fix your god damn, messy hair.”

I’m sorry, though,

I could not care.