TGWD's Photo and Poetry Corner

DISCARDED HAIRBAND

Look at me; all twisted and stuff.

Laying down here, wishing I could get these small bits of hair untangled from around my interwoven fibers.

I wish I didn't smell of head grease.

Why didn't she wash her hair more?

Guess I'll never know now.

It's rained on me seven times since I've been here.

One of those was a drizzle, so I don't know if that counts or not.

Hey, I just realized something...

Look at how the top of me is twisted up at the ends.

And look at the little loop at my bottom.

What do you know: I'm two moves away from being a copyright infringement.

Maybe if I was, I could get some corporation to pick me up and clean me.

Put me in their hair.

Absent-mindedly spray me with Adorn.

Funny how you miss things like that.

The smell of conditioner.

The chemicals that burn into your rubber core from a permanent.

Listening to Marge talk about her no-good husband while she teases your curls.

Never thought I'd miss the inside of a salon.

Of course, I never thought I'd end up here, either.

Weird how life is.

Or it would be, if I were alive.

Wait.

If I'm not living, how can I be talking?

Or thinking, for that matter?

Am I thinking?

Huh.

Weird.
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(c) 2010, photo and poem "Discarded Hairband" by TheGreatWhiteDope. This post has been brought to you by the Bloggers Involvement Of The Corresponding Hyperbole. Donations help keep this movement alive. Please support BIOTCH. Thank you.

Dope out.

- TGWD