Medusa, I Promise Everything Is Going To Be Okay Poem by Kewayne Wadley

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! '