I never thought I’d be the type of poet that wrote about a strand of hair, about the seemingly unimportant details of a day, but something about that moment struck me. In its banality, it was beautiful and carried so much more meaning than I could have ever expected. How many interactions do we brush aside without pause. Maybe it’s dumb, but I seriously discovered some things about myself in examining my hair strand. What can you discover about yourself if you only take the opportunity to consider it?
She's in Prison 