Throw your hands in the air

Walk home
Braid your hair in front of the mirror
Fingering the small strands of 
Brown, blonde, gray, blue, black.
These are the sounds of your heart
The scratching of the curly
straight, bent, broken hairs in your hand

This is life, and you hate it.
You hate the way they look past you
The way your skin doesn’t show enough

Fat girls with tits get more looks than you
Skinny girls wearing jeans

But you with the curves
You’re not good enough.

You with the brown/blue/grey/green- 
You are not good enough.

Go home, 
You are not welcome here
You are not wanted
You are nothing.

The dust circling your feet has nothing and everything
       to do with your strong heart.