Shaving my Beard

So I must shave my beard,

Afraid to look weird,

After so many people have cheered, I must jeer the very wires which clearly give me strength.
I scratch it to think

When I blink, the stems on my eye lids
shudders
as I must deforest a savannah
which I've grown, for what feels like, years.

Really... it’s been a few months.

I tell people she was created out of laziness

People say, “Oh! So you have a beard!?”

Yes I have beard, have I proved to you I'm a man?

I'm not the young little boy my Mother remembers me as.

“Do you love your mother?” She asks me,
“Then shave it off!”

My beard only brings questions to others, and when I scratch the nots and twist the luscious curls, it provides my mind with answers.
But I cannot speak these answers
as,
it
is overgrown,
unhealthy to my being.

It's trimmed now, and
I just hope
I
don’t
look
too
weird,

without my beloved
beard.