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The Hair that Holds the World

The sky is crashing, falling, driving her to scabbed knees and gruesome toiling.

Like Atlas, her hair holds the expanse of sunlit blue and white speckled black – bruising every muscle of her neck. Her hair grows wide and strong, surrounding her like a halo to hold the world alone.

In that mass of tendrils – pain, heartbreak, strength, beauty and fathomless grace. I wish I could understand but my life was easy. And my hair grew straight.

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