Short Hair by Mike Hoang

Short hair, red hairWe stop.. and we stare. And in a split moment of peripheral realisation Ive come to know a fact without a second of hesitation. I love the smile you give when your affection glimmersI love the eyes which make me wonder in wanderlust when our lips simmersI love how you can tell a tale without even trying because with every strand of tragedy, is memory worth dyeing.

"Did you get a haircut?"

Why, what is that supposed to mean? A question to rave the underlying backdrop of where you have been. Tainted red, layered back, trimmed fringes Yet the rough edges havent healed And your shirt is still in cringes.The damaged passion behind our blissOur shirts are taken, but its not my compassion you miss. Yet I still love the way you loved. You glow with honesty, yet the truth remains sealed. How strong do you have to be to not even feelThe singularity of pain after pain after pain. Of each strain after strain after strain. One at a time, you pick problem after problem and it doesnt stop extending, and nothing you do solves them. How mortifying is it for me to comprehend, How a modern girl cant even live without their own virtue left open, to be filched by the savagery of men.

But you have far more to achieve and aspire,with a womans tenacity that should be admired.As a fighter with a fiery spirit,A fire blazing through the ends of your passions and dreamsAnd the frailness of your ends, end there.The fleeting crimson, cut, Turning towards twilight serenity where darkness grow fair.

"Did you get a haircut?" Long hair, black hair We walk on. lacking visible care.And in a split moment of peripheral realisation Ive come to know a fact without a second of hesitation. I loved the tales you told without even trying.Because with every strand of hope, is a memory worth aspiring,as a modern woman carries the world - her conviction is undying.