Hair Die
She had fake blue hair
the kind God can't give you when you're born
the kind only a human can give you with chemicals
when you're in your teens and want to be cooler or more different than the rest
But I liked her.
Alot.
And she wouldn't give me her number
because my hair and eyes weren't exotic at all.
They were, and are, brown.
poem by John W. McEwers
Added by Poetry Lover
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