Explosion

Every morning, I wake up with something... interesting.... sitting on my head: my hair, tangled and browned from the night before. I brush it; I rub antifrizz stuff through it. And then I get to school and it looks just like it did when my alarm went off. I run my hands through it and try to pull it over my shoulder, tangles getting stuck on my fingers and thumb. And then I get home and it has exploded it can't be controlled.

My hair is life. That sounds superficial, let me rephrase. My hair represents life. There's always a calm before the storm, and after the worst of hurricanes - or, in hair's case, days, it's always back to normal in the morning. See you in the morning.