This morning
my face was covered in hair.
I felt as if
I was
somehow more honest
in this feral state.
This afternoon
I shaved.
I watched my
hair fall to the
tile floor,
it felt like an autumn,
here in early spring.
Buried beneath my wilderness
was an also honest face I’d missed,
a me I’d known before.
I wish to be all of the forests
that I’ve grown
and laid rest to.
I suppose I’m walking through them
even now.
day #3 of #national poetry month | cover image: sensoryarthouse.com
