Her hair, long and wild
Lively little snakes that roam about
In an field of wool.
Her feet dragged with the slither of sole against concrete.
A decree made from tiring disposition.
Her stare often held memories.
The faces of others whom stared back at her.
They often passed her by.
A window seat,
Sitting at one restaurant or another.
Aware of their lack of empathy
 She'd quite often stare.
Often casting a spell of self regret.
Wallowing in thought.
A lone pattern of thoughts trailed by the essence of an empty room that shortly awaited her arrival.
An appearance not easily accepted
By those whom passed by.
She'd order a meal along with an drink.
Questioning the string theory of life.
Until one day, the waiter who'd normally take her order stopped and said
"Hey! I like your dreadlocks!"