I wrote this in the spirit of the habits poem I wrote a few days ago. I'm experimenting with using dialouge in a poem.
I straightened my hair last night,
is a code sentence that my never
going away friend understands.
She gasps and asks how long
has it been like I have not been
a person with emotions for many
years. It is overrated. It takes
too long to get it perfect,
I admit. She sighs. Let yourself
go. Nothing is perfect. But
I want perfection to halt
any curls or frizz that time may
eventually bring. But I don't
want to like him. I sigh.
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