I stare at my reflection
unsure if the person looking back is really me.
Locks of hair litter the floor;
the scissors laying beside me.
I heard you prefer girls with short hair
so I cut mine.
My hair is damp from rinsing it.
The smell of chemicals still lingering.
I heard you prefer blondes
so I exchanged my chestnut brown for a sandy yellow.
My glasses are now sitting in the trash can,
snapped in half for good measure.
I heard you prefer girls without them
so now I'm wearing contacts.
I've done all of this -
traded who I was for who I thought you wanted.
Yet will you notice me?
Will these changes make me stand out
or simply blend in?