You always liked how my hair was.
How it'd fall over my shoulder,
How it reached the middle of my back
It was easy to play with,
Something you said I should never get rid of,
So I cut it today.
And each snip was just another metaphor to cutting you out of me.
Falling to the ground and getting swept away because I don't need that hair anymore.
Just like I don't really need you anymore.
It's short now,
Something I'm sure you'd tease me about.
Something I'm sure you'd hate,
But hating something about me isn't new for you,
Is it?
