every hair on a head has a life
wants to lengthen and flourish
but we chop them back
shape them like a bonsai
then snip again and again
makes me wonder what else
we don’t want to emerge
from inside us something
doubt or fear keeps cutting
each time it raises a head
something we don’t want
to reach the light of day
guess we call those secrets
though I know they grow
quite differently in darkness
much uglier and more twisted
than the hairs on a head
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