pinkifying

Leila Metres, ‘28

when i first dyed my hair, i felt more like

myself than i ever had in my life. now,

you comb bleach through my hair, gloved

fingers parting the threads like curtains,

letting morning light in through the gaps

between them. i rest my head and heart

in your hands. each curl burns, heat

radiating from my skull. when you’re not

around, you’re still on my mind, leaking in 

through the cracks. you start with the hair

at the bottom and then work your way up,

climbing to the top like i’m rapunzel and

you’d go anywhere for me. your hands

reach up, each rung another promise.

it takes hours, from brown to gold to

raspberry pink. you lean over, use the tip

of your finger to rub in a spot of pink

above my ear, and your lips taste like fruit

and rain and skin. there are sides of me

i don’t see, gaps you fill that i can’t reach 

myself. don’t stop until you’ve lit every part

of me on fire, until my heart is so full it’s

bleeding. i’m not the same when it’s over.