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Writer's pictureTheresa Baxter

The Nest



There’s none more cruel said to a child

What’s with your hair? It’s run pure wild!

Those teasing words that irk like pest

Compares my tresses to bird’s nest

Like brambled thicket drowns a thrush

They say it’s like a toilet brush!

How jealous when I sneak a peek

At girls with hair so smooth and sleek

They wouldn’t have the problem of

A stranger’s hands so rudely shoved

Straight through my hair as if a sport

Would laugh if I got out of sorts…

How sad those years I slouched just so

To hide my hair, hoped it’d not grow

So decades passed, much less unknown

Into my hair my spirit’s grown!

It might be crazed when I awake

It matters not how long it takes

To tame the beast they used to mock

Who cares!? This head loves 80s rock!

Instead of stares there’s complements

Instead of meek I’m opulent!

With confidence I greet this world

A fearless queen with crown of curls!

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