A birthday poem 🍰 about a haircut 👩

Entry #44: a birthday poem about a haircut
Friday 19 November 2021

Hello! Happy Friday :)

I turn 42 in a week's time. I don't feel old and I'm not harbouring any birthday blues, but I do notice signs of ageing these days. Grey hairs have greeted me in the mirror for years now. I went blonde (see stylised photos above and on my website) in early 2020 and whilst this delighted Shawn, it never felt quite right to me. I only got my roots done once. I vowed to grow it out and never dye my hair again.

I am a lucky tart and managed to get an appointment with my hairdresser on Wednesday morning, so hair has been on my mind this week. I wrote this poem last night. It's called Hey Grey.

Hey Grey

Hair at my temples is turning grey
White hair, actually, so they say
A smattering only, but here to stay
A sign of age, brown turns grey
 
The whites are wiry, will not obey
No ear tuck is smooth, some go astray
Slow-grow hairs that twist away
Admire their guts, escaping the fray
 
Annual rhythm, horizon: birthday
Level 2 on the weirdest Monday
Praise be, now it’s haircut day!
What to do about all this grey?
 
Decision easy, grey must stay
Cut it short, sparkle of sea spray
Salt and pepper, hint of bay
Ageing female, turning grey

END

Photo description. A close-up selfie of Michelle, showing her face and haircut with one side more visible than the other.

Funny how a haircut can be a powerful tonic. This cut suits me, always has. When I saw it take shape on Wednesday, the dry ends dropping away, my little ears out and proud, the swoosh across the forehead.... I said, there I am. I'm back.

I'm nearly 42: learning, forgetting, remembering and re-learning how to show up as me in the most truthful and un-fake way I possibly can.

I hope something in today's entry was helpful or hopeful. As always, I look forward to your emails and hearing what you heard, saw and felt when reading this.

With love,
Michelle xx