This is going to sound silly. My hair has always been a key tool of self-expression for me. I've dyed it so many colors and cut it so many different ways, and each style has had some kind of meaning or memory for me. Whenever my depression gets really bad or something big changes in my life, I want to change my hair. It helps me deal with the change around me, especially the changes I can't control, because my hair is something I can control.
Recently, I was fired from a job I loved because I was falsely accused of sexual harassment. If you know me at all, you know that I would never harass someone, regardless of whether they were a coworker or a stranger. It hurt and confused me a lot, and just made me feel sick because I was given no chance to defend myself and now the people I worked with think that I am some kind of awful person. Before beginning the job, I had cut and dyed my hair a certain way because I was finally going to have a job that allowed that. Now, I can't look at that color of my hair without associating it with my old job and the people I worked with, the people who betrayed and lied about me and the people who believed me to be a liar. So I have to change my hair, and the first step is stripping the color of the old dye out.
Yes, this poem is literally about stripping the color out of my hair.