Tight black curls bouncing against her back,

Long loose waves too stringy to attack.

Thick brown strands with a mind of their own,

Too complicated to even try to be blown.

 

Blonde braids swing with each step,

Exposing the spot she forget to prep.

Red or orange curls everywhere.

Can you please do something with that hair?

 

No.

 

I will let it down and let it flow.

Forget about my hair and let it go.

It is my hair and it is my worry,

So if I want I’ll let it be furry

 

And straggly

And tangled

And dirty

And messy.

 

Because my hair is a problem of my own

and if you want to groan about a dirty, tangled, straggly mess.

Before you make any requests,

Look in the mirror.