Rest

Trigger warning: The poem you are about to read contains disturbing content and may trigger an anxiety response, especially in those who have a history of trauma.

I glare at the mirror,
tired eyes and pale lips,
and as my hair falls upon my cheeks –
I can feel the wind dancing through the window and caressing my fingers.

I close the window,
my reflection staring at me in anger,
and as my hair falls upon my cheeks –
I can feel the light shining through my body and invading my privacy.

I turn off the lights,
slowly,
and as my hair falls upon my cheeks –
I can feel my tears drowning within my eyes.

I take the scissors,
and as my hair falls upon my cheeks –
I start to cut it.

Inch after inch;
my hair falls to the ground –
in order to forget the weight upon my shoulders,
and to unsee these images of never-ending abuse.

I turn on the lights,
slowly,
and I open the window.

I glare at the mirror,
tired eyes and pale lips –
my trembling hands touching the remaining strands of hair upon my head;
maybe now, I can rest.

Jehona Thaqi©