Cut

I had my heart set on a buzzcut. My mother forbade it.

But what she didn’t know was I had been raped. Repeatedly. I need this. She relented.

I grabbed my shears and made the first cut, leaping up and down, hands flapping all over in joyous stims. This is what it feels like to be in my body, isn’t it? I grabbed the clippers.

Three stripes gone. Nothing in the world could bring me down.

Five. Every bad thought, every traumatic moment that’s happened left me.

Seven. I couldn’t stop stimming.

Finally, it was all gone.

I’m me again.

From Guest Contributor Grayson Pride