Ode to my Hair:
I stink at poetry, so I am truly sorry you have to settle for less, my dear hair. You have literally hung by me through thick and thin, though I am proud to say that you are neither. In the winter you were beautiful and dark, my protection from the cold. In the summer you are my pride and joy, with natural streaks of auburn, red, and blonde. Over our last few days together I have fixed you up in all the ways I was never corageous enough to do up 'till now: I'm doing my hair like I'm dieing, to make up for all the times I let you hang limply by my side. I'm sorry I was never brave or confident enough to give you the respect you deserve. You are surely a red rose among weeds, oh dearest hair! I remember the time I took you to the salon and got you braided around my head like I was Princess Leah Organa, but only now do I marvel that you were able to do such a thing. I was too nervous to wear you to school that way, for fear that my peers would laugh. But I do wish now that I had shown you off to the multitudes! You shone like a star on that beautiful weekend, and I was too worried that you would blind my friends. But now I know better. You will soon be gone and resting upon the head of another, more needy person. I bid you a fond farewell in the hopes that you will serve my fellow man well. I shall miss you, dearest hair! I shall love you always! Goodbye!
