Plaits

You tend to lose all sense of grace
When one of your plaits hits you in the face
And the fat bit at the bottom, slaps you in the eye
Which then goes red and smarts
As if you're about to cry

Bloodshot and blinking
You find it hard to see
Stumble and trip
Fall over clumsily

So all those hours I've spent
In an attempt
To look heaven-sent
And present myself more beautifully
Were a waste of time
No I find myself half blind
And could have been spent more fruitfully