Brieanne Schneider Figurative Piece
Dear Brieanne, This is hard to say to you, because we’ve grown so close, but I can’t handle what you do to me anymore. You constantly use me to make yourself look better, and hurt me in the process. You say that you’re taking care of me, by cutting me short all the time, but I didn’t want to detach with that part of me. Also, the constant burning kills me. Why aren’t you happy enough with me as I am? Why do you feel the need to straighten me out every chance you get? You’re causing me to fall away from you! Why didn’t you notice my warning signs? Pieces of me fell all over, all because of you! You stripped me of what I needed to survive, and nothing you try now can revive me. This is my last goodbye to you. You’ll find me dead, in your shower drain tomorrow morning. Sincerely, Your Hair
Notes: I wrote a suicide note from my hair because I think that if my hair had feelings and was alive, it would say something like that to me. I constantly strip it of its nutrients by washing, drying, and straightening it all of the time. It always falls out when I run my
fingers through it, or brush it. I cut it to fix the dead ends from straightening it so much, and I imagine that if it were alive, it wouldn’t like to have some parts of it cut off and mutilated to make me look better. Thankfully, my hair has held on and hasn’t all fallen out, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it did sometime.