poetry I write while mentally ill in college

Hair

My hair, drenched from the shower head,
Was long enough, to cover my nippples,
When laid out, like a biblical painting of Eve.
I'd wanted to paint Eve on my wall.
I'd wanted to be a good Christian girl.

Sweat dripped down my forehead,
Bangs held back in a headband.
I'd had bangs long as I could remember.
Leah had told me to grow them out long as I could remember her.
No one cared about my hair when I played soccer.
No one criticized my rage.
Only my mother cared that I forgot to smile.
She made me a headband,
So my bangs - too long to stay out of my eyes -
Wouldn't make it hard to play.
I wanted to be a good athlete.
I wanted to be a good girl.

My hair is braided into a white bitch's cornrows.
Peyton had done it.
She'd also painted makeup across my face,
Uneven, she couldn't decide which look she preferred,
So she did both,
Knowning only we would see.
I knew I looked beautiful,
But I felt ugly.
I always felt ugly, but I knew,
Ugly wasn't the right word.
How else was I supposed to express,
That I hated my reflection?
I liked the cornrows.
I'd never learned how to braid my hair.
I only knew a brush and a ponytail.
The bangs were long enough I didn't need the headband anymore.
Cornrows were different.
But I knew they were wrong,
Even if I'd never learned the phrase:
Cultural appropriation.
They came out after three days.
I wanted to be beautiful.

Eight heads in a circle.
You can tell which one's mine,
Because my hair is the only -
Not braided.
I wanted my hair to be like theirs.
I refused to let them braid my hair.
They were beautiful.
Always beautiful.
I wanted to be like them.
I wanted to be a real girl.

My hair is covered, in part, by a ballcap.
My boyfriend wears a matching one.
I show the picture to Evelyn.
She tells me he is cute.
I stare at the photo.
I realize he is.
I tell him later,
That I only just realized he is.
How funny.
We were together.
But I could barely see how handsome he was.
Evelyn was beautiful.
I was beginning to understand why: Wren thought I was a lesbian.
I wanted to be a straight girl.

My hair fell straight, looking off,
Above my floral blouse,
And navy slacks.
Sophia and I are taking prom pictures.
We didn't get to go to prom.
I didn't want solo pictures.
Only pictures with her.
They cajole me into getting a few on my own.
I look,
I look.
I look half way there.
My image not quite appearing in the camera,
Like a vampire.
Or a ghost.
I want to be someone who can show up in pictures.

My hair is gone.
I tell Sky I'm thinking of going by any pronouns.
She asks if she has to call me her boyfriend.
I go though my first breakup.
Well, my second.
But I forget I dated him.
I couldn't stop smiling when I shaved my head.
I saw my reflection in the mirror.
There I was.
I'd never seen myself before.
How odd it is,
To gaze upon your body,
And see your presence,
Behind your eyes.
I wanted to be seen.

I put gel in my hair.
It spiked upwards like a 90s punk, wannabe.
I'd once loved Nymphadora tonks.
She had spiky, pink hair.
She could change her appearance at will.
She never fit in.
She loved someone society told her she wasn't meant to love.
She loved anyways.
She loved herself.
The spikes fit me.
I wanted to love myself.

My hair feels wet and cold.
Buzzed again.
Liberty and Lydia,
Stand on either side of me,
Painting my hair,
Complaining that I won't sit still,
But I can't sit still.
Because my "ex-boyfriend" -
We think it's the funniest thing that we dated,
That his sister told me I was gay. -
And my other two best friends,
And another along with my brother,
Sit around,
Watching the chaos.
Making me laugh,
So hard my sides shake,
And I double over,
Ruining Liberty's ability to,
Dye my hair.
They debate nicknames for me,
Because I'd always wanted nicknames,
But name before,
Was far too short,
To ever be shortened.
But my name now,
Hold a million possibilities,
And I love these idiots,
For calling me Finthalomule,
And making me laugh so hard,
I am a menace to Liberty and Lydia.
I love this family.
We plan to grow old together,
And I've never wanted anything more.
I love myself.
Finally.
I love myself.
And I don't even wanna die.