Reminds me daily, to grow up

As I sit silently sinking
Sinking into a chair not fair
I stare at my sandy hair.
Sandy is not the truth,
It is more brown, yet shines.

My hair used to be bleach blonde.
Wildness for hair in my childhood
The brightness faded, now only flickering.
It shines slightly with right light
Yet will never shine the same.

Perhaps it yet could shine white.
Perhaps it could shine for a few bucks.
A cheap can of spray, lathered on
With a liberal coating of regret
Instantly setting in, easily washed.

No, for I must be willing to admit
That my hair is not bleach
That my childhood has ended.
The dusty brown upon my head,
Reminds me daily to grow up.

Yet, I never will.

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