Untangled.

When I was a kid, I had really long hair.
Every morning, my mum used to hack at it with a comb.
I remember screaming my head off while she sadistically
grabbed large handfulls and attempted to get the tangles out.

In the end she had it all cut off really short.
So I looked like a boy.
Ignoring the untold damage that did to my psyche,
every morning (without the hair torture) became a breeze.

But now, weirdly, my hair is so straight, it hardly needs combing at all.

I expect there's a deeper meaning about how time will sort out
the most difficult of knotty problems.

Nah, that's bollocks.