Cutting her hair, at one time, would make her cry. It was such a horrible experience
Utter fear would grip her upon sitting in the chair knowing she was at the mercy of the hairdresser
Red hair ringlets defined the core of who she was and were her pride and joy, so she was so particular
Letting the electric razor zoom across her scalp, she smiled.
Suck it, cancer! She would grow back stronger.
Being depressed on a day where light rains down from a robin’s egg sky
Leaves her wanting to curse up and down for feeling blah on such a perfect day
Ultimately, she goes to her safe space, puts on some B.B. King, and curls up in a ball
Enveloped in her azure blanket, she lets loose her own rain