I feel like hair, combed, tossed, and blow dried.
I feel like hair, washed but never enough to erase the trace of what you did.
I feel like hair, styled and spiked so many different ways, but never perfect in your eyes.
I feel like hair, cut, pulled, and dried out, left in nothing but strands.
I feel like hair, dyed and changed, you always wanting me to be different than what I am.
I feel like hair, annoying and frustrating, giving you the urge to just shave me off and rip me out of your life.
I feel like hair.
