St Agnes in the Afterlife

I spend so much of my days 
combing and braiding, I’m not sure 
if I’m in Heaven or Purgatory. 
The stream of pleas from teenage 
drama queens is as endless as time. 
They worry about backstabbing friends, 
but when I was their age, I was dragged 
through the streets naked and stabbed 
through the throat. Try being popular 
when your body has covered itself 
in hair and any boy who liked you 
(even if they were the worst) 
has been blinded. My head 
is on display in a case in Rome, 
perpetually grounded, but please 
go on about your inability to match 
your eye shadow to your shirt. At least 
I have my lamb to keep me company, 
although I often lose her in the clouds, 
or find her with the Virgin Mary, 
who teases me with “Who 
has a little lamb now?” Through all this, 
my hair still grows. May it one day cover us all.