At Sixteen
I cut off my hair.
Long locks of
obedience fell to
the floor without reverence.
Not content to be
my father's daughter
at Bible study,
I went out on the town.
Rebellious he shouted,
certain my future
was damned.
But this, my first stand,
forged me. Samson braced
against crumbling columns,
without regret.
Strong is as strong does.
Defiant could no longer
define me, strength could.
 |
| Regina Gort at 16 |
