An Impossible Feat

I hate my hair. I hate, hate, hate it.
You tell me that your curls make your hair too poofy and frizzy. Well, look at mine: it's an uncontrollable mess of waves and frizz that worsen with every stroke I brush.
You tell me that your hair is too flat. Well, sorry because I am stuck with hair that is a mountain of volume. A triangle shape almost.
You tell me that your hair is too straight...it never curls. Well, when did that become a bad thing? Because last time I checked, society always favors perfectly straight, silky hair. I, for one, can never get my hair completely straight therefore I am never perfect by society's standards.
You tell me that you're "too blonde". Well, at least you're not stuck with the banal, rudimentary black.
You tell me that you're having a bad hair day hence your hair is in a ponytail...or in a braid. Well, my "good hair days" are the days I can manage to keep my hair up.
You tell me that you're bangs are too short...or too long. Well guess what? My bangs are both. Sometimes they become thin, eel like pieces of strand falling on my face; other days they become short, frizzy flyaways that make my face a mess.
You, and by you I mean all you girls in this world, tell me that your hair sucks but it's always so perfect. I've never found a girl with hair as awful as mine. I despise it, and if I had the sharp facial features, I would seriously cut it super short.
But no. I'm stuck with it.
I hate my life right now. Whoever said that a bad hair day was all that could make a day awful is an absolute, erudite genius (excuse my redundancy).

I dare you: find hair that's worst than mine.
The first person that does becomes the person I love forever.