A poem by my Omega - Mornè November.
She says it's just too messy sometimes
But I can't brush and expect it to just obey
It's like trying to pet a wild animal
She tells me to cut it short, short is cute
I explain to her what happens to the earth every time we chop down her trees to build concrete cities
She then suggests products to help me manage the strands of chaos
I walk her outside to show her how the grass rebels its way through the pavement
"Guys don't like it like that" she says
I tell her that's good
I prefer it messy and wild
I wear my hair this big to intimidate him
I wear it bigger than his dick, bigger than his ego
Whichever comes first
