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Her Hair

Her hair floated on the wind.
Ephemeral

It was dark and rich the way black coffee was
Or bitter chocolate
Or the night sky in the city where the stars are blanketed
By a million people screaming their dreams and troubles,
Screaming we too are important.

Her hair danced in the wind.
Brilliant.

It was fierce and beautiful the way cats are
Or glossy obsidian
Or the sharp smile of a girl with too much life and too little,
Matte lips hidden with a coat of dark crimson color,
Screaming just listen to me, please.

Her hair whipped in the wind.
Troubled.

It was agitated and untamed the way sleepless nights are
Or bottled words
Or hopeless attempts, one after another, to reach a goal
That slips out every time despite her best
Screaming please, please, please.

Her hair died in the wind.
Faded.

The color was dyed and fake.
The beauty was just an illusion.
Pale rope left dark marks on paler skin
Born with too much and yet so little
Whispering I’m so sorry.






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