They are the only ones who come undone. I am the only one who hates them. Three sloppy curls with uneven layers and crazy pointed ends. Three within my head so full of curls. Three limp excuses curled and recurled by me. From the mirror, I can see them, but Mother just watches and doesn’t notice these things.

Their laziness is weakness. They send anxiety ridden thoughts forward into my mind. They lift up or they fall down and push the good curls underneath their ferocious waves and hid the perfection with selfish strands and never cease my anger. This is how they lay.

Let one remember his reason for being, they’d all collapse down like dogs on a summer day, each with their tongues out and flat... Curl, Curl, Curl they say when I look. They ambush.

When I am too tired and too frustrated to keep curling, when it is a tiny thing against so many curls, then it is I that gives up. When there is nothing left to curl in my hair. Three who lay despite all my attempts. Three who slump and do not forget to slump. Three whose only reason is to standout and inspire.