Brush Your Own Hair


When we first met-
my hair was not brushed,
my skin was not tan, and my nail polish-
perfectly chipped.

My mouth was not clean,
and my makeup was a toddler mess-
streaks of purple, red and yellow,
the flavors I liked best.

My pants were tight,
and my booty round-
My breasts uneven,
and no underwear to be found.

When we first met,
he pulled my hair a mess-
he squeezed my fat booty,
and caressed those uneven breasts.

Then it happened,
the hair brush appeared-
he asked for me to condition,
and to cover my rear.

So I did uncoil the hair,
and cover those hips-
put tape over the holes,
and masked all the rips.

But no matter how many times I brushed,
my hair never stayed straight-
my breast stayed uneven,
my face needed paint.

When we last met,
I walked away real fast-
booty shaking in the wind,
and my hair was free at last.

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