The beautiful mane that was her hair,
Fell graciously on her shoulders,
A pang of envy creeps in,
Am not blind to eye catching things.
My hand flows to my own mane,
And all I find is a poorly growing one,
It doesn’t help that it is dirty brown,
And hers is shiny black.
I wonder what she ate that I didn’t,
For her to have surprisingly beautiful feminine hair,
Contemplating,
I nearly miss the scuffle…
As it turns out,
Other homo sapiens are watching her,
Jealously I must add,
After all, I am not alone!
As if sensing our gawking looks,
She turns her head, this, and that way,
And in that moment of gratification,
The mane that was her hair falls off.
Stunned, I fall down with it,
As I hit my behind on the concrete floor,
I look for spots of blood,
But soon, a hand picks it up,
Alas, it is her hand!
She should be dead because her head,
Was cut off in a jealousy fit,
By a non-forgiving female.
Then it hits me,
It wasn’t her mane after all,
But a wig of sorts,
That is why she resembled Beyoncé,
Or was it Rihanna,
She fumbles to replace her godly look,
But now, I can breathe,
I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t,
It must have been because I realized,
The same dirty brown uncombed short hair,
That graced her clearly ashamed head,
I am not alone after all!