Greasy Hair: A Poem (or something like that)
How is it that late already?
Didn’t my alarm go off?
Yawning, Realizing, Rushing
Thankfully I set out clothes,
My lunch and bag fully packed
Time was short so the decision was clear
Greasy hair it is
Brush, Brush, Dry Shampoo, Brush
Nothing will fix this mess
All day long I’ll look forward to
The shower awaiting me at home
Sorry this poem doesn’t rhyme. It bothers me too. But I guess that fits perfectly with the feeling I had all day – uneasy, icky, greasy hair.