The little black hair under my skin,
the one that comes from being waxed,
lies curled up tight in a ball,
like a snail in its shell,
protected
by a thin layer of skin.
I cannot get it out.
No matter how hard I squeeze,
dig,
or poke
at it.
It is content to burrow further
into my body,
to make its way to parts
of myself
I will never reach.
Determined
to live
a life
underground.
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