Thread-like strands

that grow on skin.

Those thread-like strands were

More than something on her skin.

They were the reason of stares.

The reason of whispers.

Sometimes even, 

the reason of glares.

At the age of ten,

her childhood friend

told her 

her arms were hairier

than his fathers.

At the age of 12,

she was honoured

with the nickname

“hairy woman”

by the boys

In her neighbourhood.

She wore a dress for the first time

at the age of 13.

Half sleeved, 

So she wore something top.

For a slight moment, 

she let her arms show,

thinking no one would notice

“You have a lot of hair.”

was given to her, 

for her moment of confidence.

The sleeves were on again.

At the age of 14,

She was talking to her friends.

“You should really wax that mustache.”

they said.

She quietly wondered,

When did she mention hair 

In the conversation?

So she asked herself.

Was the hair she had

really that bad?

She started to see

an ape in the mirror.

It haunted her, 

day and night.

So she let the razor

move on her skin.

She waxed, 

till it made her bleed.

In place of one

grew five more.

But she did it,

again and again.

Then she looked in the mirror.

Was she truly beautiful now?

Was she who she wanted to be?

She was…

just another toy,

for society.


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