Curls (an acrostic poem)

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Cutting her hair, at one time, would make her cry. It was such a horrible experience

Utter fear would grip her upon sitting in the chair knowing she was at the mercy of the hairdresser

Red hair ringlets defined the core of who she was and were her pride and joy, so she was so particular

Letting the electric razor zoom across her scalp, she smiled.

Suck it, cancer! She would grow back stronger.

Brush (an acrostic poem)

 

Black hair slowly pulled through his fingers

Releasing the locks he began to get to work

Unkempt snarls scraped by, but he gently unraveled them

Soon he was able to sweep his hands through easily

Her moans of pleasure reminded him how much he liked being a hairdresser

 

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