He picked up the scissors, but he used a knife
to carve away who I was and leave
who I could be.
A spritz of water to keep the image loose —
the edges blurred, the face undefined.
The layers of my self snip, snipped away
to settle on the floor, leaving
the dark undercoat to finally feel the sun.
He turns me around to confront the sight
of how much I’ve changed over the
His lips move, asking if I am satisfied.
“I think a little more,” I reply.