A tale I heard
Poet Rob Auton on growing his hair and beard:
“After my Granny died I was given a sword that my great grandpa brought back from India. I was instructed to leave it at my parent’s house in York, as looking like this, I probably wouldn’t have made it through my tube journey. It has taken me a while to come to terms with the fact that hair has made me a stranger. It’s the closest I’ve felt to being a human in an animal’s body. An animal that someone isn’t looking after, and the person who isn’t looking after the animal is me. I truly didn’t realise that something as light and soft as hair could weigh a person down so much.”
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