He keeps on brushing my hair
At first he said that my curls were the colour of the sun
And the heat and bleach damage didn't matter
But all in due time he grew more repulsed to my strands of wear and tear
And my yellow braids began to break and scatter

After the colour faded
And my dirty fair roots grew in
He paused
And I waited
Until his eyes grew derelict like cities ruined

He started telling me all about the rainbows of hair dye
The pinks and the greens and the teals
He didn't notice that I knew why
That I know just what he feels

I tried not to mind so much
And he kept brushing my hair
Despite my tangles fighting against the brush
We were happy just to sit there

Until a sound kissed...