It simply sits atop my face,

Greying, thinning in disgrace,

Refusing to be tamed it hangs,

It is a mess of tangled strands,

I thus do tend to wear a hat,

To cover it, but more than that,

I fear it hates me so much so,

I leave it well alone to grow,

So long since it has seen a comb,

I leave the fucker well alone!

Sunshine and dirt,

which smells of vanilla

and passion fruit,

swirl through my head like a delicate whirlpool;

I long for a day when someone

would write secret messages in

the dirt, running fingers back and forth, and grow butterfly weed in the sunshine, creating a masterpiece only meant for me

to get washed away with the next storm.

I long to have a sea of hair

or a sunset of violet and gold,

to have a rare beauty apart of me

so then maybe you'd see I have

my own personality,

but I love sunshine and dirt

too much to throw it away on

a passing sunset or ever changing

sea of aquamarine.

But perhaps one day

I can try to find that

other part of me;

but for now

I'm okay with

my regular amenity.

A gentle grace,

Caresses the face.

An angel in our midst,

Like the sun hast kissed.

Form subtle,

Jas in bed did cuddle.

Jealousy in the air,

The crowds stop to stare.

And all is soft to touch,

Fine, blonde and such

Beautiful yet modest,

A Greek goddess.

It's been through a lot

More than dye

More than heat

More than a bad cut

It's been ripped out

Glued on

Brushed to hide the patches

I'm didn't know what to do

So I wore hats

I cringed away from the hands of my friends

They wanted to braid it

You know, like normal people do?

And little did they know

So I cut it

Dyed it

Brown-purple-brown-pink-fading

Till I was a different person

A happier person

I wish I could show you

The before and after

Except now it's thick and full again

Still less than shoulder length

I complain about it every day

But now

Looking at this challenge?

I see how grateful I am.

A mousy brown

And many a crown

A little long

But not very strong

I once was conned

Into being a blonde

It kept warm my hips

Warned approaching ships

My hair and me

Have such history

But 50 shades of grey

Haven't yet found their way

And sans product

It's pretty much fucked

In short, it's a mess.

No more, and no less...

Dark auburn in its youth.

Grown down passed my behind.

Thick and lush and curly.

Shiny as a summer's day.

Brown in middle age.

Wavy by the shore.

Bobbed to graze my neck,

Below there where my earrings lay.

One day when I'm old,

I might let it grow again.

Tucked up in a bun.

All fifty shades of gray.

Ringlets of brown

Cover my face

Yet, in the wind

blow behind, revealing my widow's peak.

It tickles her as we lie together.

Gently, she tugs at it.

It's been through a lot,

but so have I.

I love it, it is the best part of me