Free

i.
The clothes sat there in the small cardboard box: three t-shirts and a pair of cargo shorts. Trapped deep inside their threads was the heavy incense that always lingers in the back of old hippie stores. The scent leaked over me, familiar, comforting.
Material: soft. My fingers rubbed over them. Smiled.
Each tag had the title of: man.

ii.
I can't hide anymore. When I first cut off 18 inches from my scalp, I thought it meant that I couldn't hide from them, the people I used to act for. No. It means that I can't hide from me.
When I look at old pictures of myself, that girl with the long hair doesn't seem to resemble me. She looks almost invisible with the locks reaching like vines to cover her eyes, her smile, her body.
She used those dark strands to cover everything. And they're finally gone.
I can't hide from me anymore.

iii.

There is a place where I can be

A place where I can learn to run free

If you want, you could join me

And we we enjoy some tea

In this land where I run free

You cannot

Skin your knee

This is will you will find me

In the land where we can run free.