PQs Red Head

Her hair the color of Autumn When she runs its like leaves falling Me falling In love with concept Of her shiny penny hair Buying that crisp burst of sunset While the grey tones of Washington overcast Cover visions with its dull filter A filter that cannot touch gardens Of Marigold and Dahlias I love red hair That is until Looking in the mirror To see a scraggly mop of copper yarn woven into my head I pick and pull as orange red and gold strands scatter themselves around my room I love it but not on me Confident gingers flaunt their locks like sirens Shaming me into wishing contentedness could be found instead of being one mental breakdown away from an impulse hair dye But I cannot escape these red campfire strands with flames that reach the tips of a maple trees branches Roots that puncture the earths virgin surface A gentle nudge to the roots upon the top of my head The roots that set fire burning away doubt and setting free a red head who didn't see that their hair could buy up the world and burn it down with a single motion