Hair;
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.