For TheOtherAuthor
Love ya! â„ïž
I wore my hair low.
I let itâs shiny white color flow.
I couldnât wear a hat.
I would get detention for that.
I looked down at the floor.
The other kids talked, laughed.
I knew people stared.
I knew I was the weird kid.
The weed.
In a field of wildflowers.
It would never change.
Mother wonât let me dye it.
It seems to get brighter everyday.
I feel it mocks my miser...