Years ago, I said I had enough,
never would I do it again.
You said, “I hurt you,”
and recoiled from my touch.
It didn’t take long to decide to stop.
Several months of seeing you look ragged & unkempt.
I didn’t know what I was doing,
I told you that.
I felt strong in my refusal.
For years, my decision held fast.
I did not budge or change my mind.
Still, I haven’t learned.
But, when you asked,
“Sure,” I said.
“I can do it.”
“You have to tell me if I hurt you,”
I said. “It’ll be okay,” you told me.
Soon, the kitchen floor showed my handiwork.
Feeling around, you said, “I think it’s good.”
“You better go check,” I pleaded.
“Just to make sure.”
“A little more,” you asked when you returned.
“Here, where my hand is,” you said.
I took more time to do as you asked.
I stayed calm and patient. Careful not to hurt, as I went on.
No longer was I afraid.
The hair cut was done.
It was okay.
It is Poetry Friday! This week’s round-up is hosted by Jama’s Alphabet Soup. Thank you for hosting!