You are hair.

.

Like hair, you are poseable,

Flexible enough to become

Whoever you think others

Will want to see.

.

You're obsessed with perfection;

Others can't see your frayed ends

Or the tangles you smoothed out this morning.

Flaws terrify you.

.

And as you shape yourself,

Abandon your straight, natural look,

You're losing a bit of you.

Others expect you to

Look that certain way,

Or be different, fresh,

Every single time they see you.

.

You're no longer you.

You're their hair to play with,

The hair on that mannequin,

Completely unable to be

Yourself, but rather reflect

The interests of others.

.

You are just their hair.