when the boy you love tells you he'd like you better with longer hair
so that he has something to grab onto
while he's f***ing you
cut off all of your hair –
every last strand –
and mail it to him.
kiss the envelope
so that he will break the last bond of your lips when he opens it
tell him to show it to his mother
and when she sees the dead knots in his palm
peep in through the window
so you can memorize the look on his face
when he apologizes to her.

when the boy you love tells you he'd like you better with longer hair
do not apologize to him
do not cry
do not do anything except leave
do not pretend you didn't hear it –
you heard it.
every cell in your bloodstream heard it
and your veins are working now to pump all of the blood inside of you
up to your scalp
but there is a blood clot on your forehead
like a question,
like an apology
do not apologize to him.
cauterize the parts of you that he kissed
and drain him from your bones
fill your flesh with something better,
like Virginia Woolf
or sleep
or satisfaction

do not curse the girls with long hair
they don't owe anyone an apology, either.
they have as much obligation to a pair of scissors
as you do

do not shrink yourself to the size
of his mouth.
he will shout at you
a mile of lies
to make up for the inches you snipped
for the inches he can't handle
because now he has to stare at your neck
without chewing it like a steak.
he will tell you
you are not beautiful
and when he does
do not kill the living cells
in the soft part of your hands
with silence, with reluctance, with justification
kill the dead ones
that sprout from the stubborn bones
that made you love him
in the first place.

do not blame your mother
do not blame your father
for giving you light instead of fire.
you have spent far too much time growing out
your smile –
the way you carry yourself when your legs feel like iron spikes
when your hands feel like ores
when your hips feel like jazz music
when not even unforgiving, egocentric boys with misconstrued stipulations about your femininity
can get you down
when there are not enough beanies to cover this bad hair day –
this is the mother of bad hair days –
do not apologize

you have spent far too much time growing out
your smile

when the boy you love tells you he'd like you better with longer hair
do not say,

“me too”