dear future partner,
i am sorry to inform you that you can’t run your fingers through my hair
it isn’t silky or smooth like a tall white girl in a brightly colored Garnier commercial

but try running through the fields of mind,
approach gently at each thought that greets you
touch sweetly, for every dream you unfold is delicate, easily molded by those who refuse to slow down for me
glide carefully as you discover unwanted spots in my brain, left by other travelers who I mistakenly allowed to begin a journey within me

you can’t run your fingers through my hair,
but you can traverse freely through my memories as they roll off of my tongue and onto yours
feel the wind rush past my ears as my lips take you back through time and space until your own mind begins to latch onto memories of mine.
a child on a swing. kicking back her legs and greeting the sky with a smile, unknowing and unfearing of all obstacles ahead of her.

you can’t run your fingers through my hair without pulling back a weird mixture of coconut oil, leave in conditioner, and whatever product is still there before wash day

but run your hands carefully on my skin
listen to the sounds of my scars as they whisper stories unable to escape my throat
appreciate the too soft or too rough, too loose or too tough parts of my body as they welcome you to me

and when it seems as if there’s no running left, come close.
lay your head on my chest; feel me rise and fall
as I try to my fingers through you.