As part of my identity and physical being, you have stood your ground for almost two decades. People never love you; they tell me to cut you off of my head and out of my life. Without you I feel like nothing, and as I imagine going short, my years with you flicker like camera shutters. You are here to stay.
You are always knotted and tangled, but still two feet of glorious brown waterfall. You enjoy dancing a tango with me and the people I love, grabbing on to everything from the nails in wooden chairs to the buttons on that cute boy’s shirt. You ruin my live life and my social life. Whatever, you’re here to stay.
I am a prole in every sense of the word. Nobody thinks much of me if you’re braided or up in the air. I keep myself hidden with the exception of you. Why have I kept you around anyway? Do I still feel pity for you after your spout with the kitchen mixer? It hurt me more than anyone, truthfully. I show you off because without you, I am not a woman. You’re here to stay.
You are a contributor to my self hatred. You point out that I don’t fit in. I never cut you when the other girls do. I spend all night waiting for you to dry and all day watching you. People never love you. You’re hard to deal with. You never cooperate with me. As the victim of your parasitical behavior, I would love to kick you to the curb. But I have no true power. You’ve been my only friend. You’re my fidget toy. You’re my curtain. I have to say, you are here to stay.