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.
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