Rip it off, the threads of my stressed and depressed life.
Rip off my hair and all of the pain it brought along with my thoughts.
Rip off my hair because this pain is more then I can bare,
and that feeling of being false.
So my dear crows, take these damn threads,
because you have more of a use for it then I, for all their wrongs.
In exchange, how about you accompany me and maybe listen too, for some walks.
Rip it off, because the pain of it ripping is far less then their taunts.
Rip it off, so that I may be able to feel like myself and not like those bots.
My dear, crows take it and treasure it and fill me up with your innocent songs.
"I'll give you a feather my friend, because you're not alone, others may feel the same as you. I seem to enjoy our talks, so accompany me for a waltz."
The crow calls.
"It's okay to give up on things if it hurts you, so let them know that you are most yourself with your hair short and would like to called differently without a pause."
"But for now let's dance and sing some songs."