My Hair

It must be a muss This tousled up nest My mess with no fuss Untidy, unkept Shabby and ragged Rough I confess A random done gust Just there with no sense They’re tangled and knotted Dreaded, complex Strands shoot across In tattered up threads Interlocking and snarled Entangled like mesh Disordered, slipshod Disheveled I guess Springing curls go untouched They sway and adjust Kinked flinging strings Frayed and unbrushed Then carelessly tossed And tied with the rest Sloppy I trust Is how it looks best So it must be a muss This tousled up nest So much of a plus Yes, it must be a muss.