Please
Pardon me.
But
My hair is
A royal mess.
My long mane
Flowing off
In all direction
Like Medusa's.
Each strand
Having
Its own mind.
Caring not
What I want.
Regardless
Of its length
Or the lack of.
Unlike
Medusa's locks
You'll won't turn
Into stone
By me.
But
A stylist or two
Has been known
To been cut
By my tresses.
Therisa © 2016
Author's note: In the cold midday wind, my hair was flowing, all over the place, as I walked to the subway station, from a nearby library branch, for an appointment, with my new diabetic nurse and nutritionist.
1 comment:
This resonates. I have been plagued by my hair my entire life. It does its own thing.
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