(no subject)

That birthmark that has always been a streak of black hair in my blonde with a colick, which seemed to fade as my blonde when brown, popped out my first obvious gray. I yanked one or two at first.

Now it's a salt&pepper salute right in front. I love it. I'm wearing it like a badge - look, I'm not 12. I'm not 17. I have muddafuggin grays, in a huddle on my forehead. I earned it.

I feel like a hawk - my piercing eyes camouflaged by my patterned feathers. Peering out, I mark pray for my talons. The young lawks in my neighborhood all died by flying into living room windows and snapping their retarded necks;
the analogy still holds for me.