Hair

A mane untame like a horse,
The frayed strands of my hair stays fully coarse.
My hair is black and distraught and full of frizz,
I only worsen my hair with the use of hairspray, Whizz!

People make fun of my hair all day,
and when I question my freaky follicles,
My mom says "your hair is supposed to be that way"

I always thought she was telling me a lie,
'till she told me her hair also once felt dry,
looked dead,
resembled a witch with shedding bedhead.

Coping with the embarrassment of bad hair is rough,
but not quite as rough as my strands of tough.

This poem is about: 
Me

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