Taylor Hayzlett

The New Year

Taylor Hayzlett

I hope for this year

to go swimmingly,

like I’m Michael Phelps

in an Olympic Pool,

weaving my hands through

the water while it simply flows off me.

But knowing me and

my tendencies, I might just take 

kitchen scissors

and hack at my hair

until I resemble

Joey Fatone twenty

-four years ago,

for the new year brings nothing

but wandering thoughts and

watery eyes.

But I might just look up to the sky.

Instead of being a bird

frantically flying around,

constantly wondering where I will land,

I will be a leaf fallen from a tree,

landing only where the wind takes me.

I will look at my hair as chestnut

instead of brown,

it doesn’t need to have frill and flounce.

I will let it grow all the way down my back.

Because changing my hair

should have never been

my New Year’s Resolution.

How would I have learned

to love it?

Author's Note: I wrote this poem because I wanted to embody the pressure that comes with the start of a new year considering resolutions and the frantic longing to reinvent yourself.