He keeps on brushing my hair
At first he said that my curls were the colour of the sun
And the heat and bleach damage didn't matter
But all in due time he grew more repulsed to my strands of wear and tear
And my yellow braids began to break and scatter

After the colour faded
And my dirty fair roots grew in
He paused
And I waited
Until his eyes grew derelict like cities ruined

He started telling me all about the rainbows of hair dye
The pinks and the greens and the teals
He didn't notice that I knew why
That I know just what he feels

I tried not to mind so much
And he kept brushing my hair
Despite my tangles fighting against the brush
We were happy just to sit there

Until a sound kissed our silence
Forcefully, might I add
The quiet had been a kindness
We had both been glad

It was his tongue whispering
Of a brunette that he knows
And when I started whimpering
He told me 'let it go'

He was rougher now
With my hair
He was not gently brushing my knots out
He didn't seem to care

I didn't know who the voice next belonged to
Was it my mind? Or his lips?
But I started hearing stories
Of my man and his brunette kiss

She didn't just have smooth hair of silky brown
But her mouth was always smiling where mine fell in a frown
She didn't just have curves where I don't
And willingness where I won't

But she had my red-heads heart
The one who was now yanking at my hair
Ripping and pulling split ends apart
Ripping and ripping and pulling and pulling
His hands begged at my strands to be straight
But
Who was he fooling?

My hair is blonde
And her hair is brown
Of her brown he grew fond
And resentful of my frown

He's brushing my hair still
Gentle, telling me 'angel, don't you cry'
But it's a lie not to spill
It's a lie not to die
© beccabug