Nothing Beautiful to Say
Some months ago
I had glorious long hair
which flowed down my back
and often fell in front of my face
thus blocking it
and fooling boys into thinking I was pretty.
So I cut most of it off
to fend off the sparse attention.
One day after sitting idle for a while,
(this being before I discovered poetry
was under the false notion that
it had to have THIS MANY syllables per line
and I didn't write it because I thought
I had nothing beautiful to say)
I decided to curl what hair I had left
So I did the awful deed.
That night I went out,
with bruises on my breasts
(also my inner thighs)
and put the brush to my head
resolving never to curl my hair