When I was a young gay
my mom hated me
my intention remains a mystery to this day
I dyed my hair with kool aid
fighting for my right to party
fighting for Sparta
each strand was black
a color I strived to bleach
loreal would not take me
and manic panic was my only solace
proposition eight
fashion got the better of me
consumed with the basic urge to change my hair color
I did the thing
I went to the salon
it was around mid day
the busiest time at supercuts
when I spied a chair manned by the most ombre’d hair
Shirley was her name
and she had the most awful queens accent I’ve heard in years.
approaching the counter, my eyebrows twitched
and I realized it was time to get them threaded.
A voice cried out
immediately I jumped back
startled and filled with terror at the sight before me.
my eyes, I questioned, were they failing me?
in front of me stood a drag queen named Biblegirl666
But her hair was gone
All that remained was a wig cap and falsies.
in her hand was a weave.
and she was holding it out to me.
greedily, I took it from her and clipped it in.
when I looked back to thank her,
I saw that her well manicured hand was extended closer to me,
waiting for me to pay.


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