Something about hair. And pride.

"Longer"
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, and a proud & independent woman who fights for women's pride and independence-cause

I let my hair grow
because you said so, earnestly
because you asked me to, more rightly,
because it was a request and not a prayer
I hate when people beg
But you didn't, you said let it grow
I followed, I did, that was it;
a momentary status

what is 'it'?

it began with the easier thing
to let my hair grow, for you
then came the further promises
it always begins with something small
too commonplace to refuse
and then it gets unnoticably bigger
until you've given away it all, yourself, your world
to someone who wouldn't known, wouldn't have known,
the one who'd given away nothing at all
the one who said no, in the first place, and didn't yield

wasn't me

wipe one's slate clean and share one's bed
my plait; all the way down my back,
it pats against my shoulderblades, a reminder
but why do I have to be reminded, and who
could possibly have the right, say it's your right,
your natural, innate, self-inflicted right, but you don't
and it's not, it won't ever be, yet I did what I did
let it flow
like a blindfolded tree
I stretch my branches, strains, out wide
and touch for another arm to hold onto
any reason given, it was why I could obey
to let someone take hold
and call my hair my pride
my only pride, I hope it's not, it's not my only pride

won't ever be