The Cage

I bend to pick up my girl.

On the bathroom floor, my messy hair twirl.

To clean it up, there seems to be no moment.

Babe playfully rubs it against her cheeks, 

causing me torment.

It's never enough and thus follow outbursts on face.

On it, the dull, dry mane make a painful trace.

It's worse on days which are silky.

Mocking the boils red and milky.

Lot of weight and enough troubles around.

I am done with this, and don't want anymore to be bound.

Off to the barber's I hurried.

Just chop it off and let these all be buried.

I need liberation and don't want to be worried.

The lady looked at the beautiful length of black.

How she longed for what was lack.

I won't do it she sighed, you will soon wish it was back.

She trimmed it up to make it neat.

Said she, there is a better way that could be a treat.

"Chop them in different styles, don't cry.

Now that it does not matter, do what you were always scared to try."

Lightened me instantly, simple though it may sound.

It was a self made trap to which a solution was just found.
Now dreams to fly and troubles to ground.

Never went back in frustration again.

When it happens then a makeover would be the gain.

Freedom I did get that day.

Attached yet detached with the strands till today.

Image from : https://pixabay.com/en/woman-face-contour-burnout-blank-73403/