at this rate
the hair on my head
is more likely to be shaven
than the hair adorning my legs,
or hiding in the soft underbelly of my shoulders.
what kind of woman am i?
i miss being a child.
i miss having my hair brushed and braided.
i remember i can have my scalp scratched
like a dog,
and the prickles on top of my skull
can still be laboriously licked clean
by a cat who loves me
and doesn't know a thing of showers
or beauty standards.
the weight of my trauma
isn't worth an effortless messy bun.
i can still be adorned with flowers.
i just have one less place to hide.
Hannah Penttila is a poet currently residing in St. Paul Minnesota. She currently works as an Addiction Counselor, but has an ongoing passion for poetry. She has been published in the Riverwhale Review and Wonderful Nonsense literary magazine.