People tell me they love my curls
They're messy, frizzy, and spirited
Never tame or smooth
They remind me of myself in that way

It's funny though
How people love my curls
Until we have a dance
Or a concert

And then
The straightening requests begin

They always do

Almost as if
My hair isn't fit for a fancy event

No matter how much gel I use
My curls don't cooperate
The same way others' do

Does that mean they shouldn't be seen?
Should my curls be crushed with heat?

The older I get
The more it's starting to seem that way

I always hated them--
how they left me behind the curtains,
worthless, unseen, forgotten

So when you told me
I was part of one,
shame flooded the courners of my soul

And yet, so did joy;
spreading like a warm fire.
Finally, a place where I belonged.

I cried
But no tears fell,
Frozen by the winter air

Bound by frost
Bound by guilt
Bound by darkness

It carried a lonely chill
That settled in my bones
Forever there

Just like me in my grave
Cradled in the arms of death
Why would I want to leave?

If I wrote a song about me
The intro would be a happy melody.
I’d miss a couple chords
Hum some notes a little too sharp
But it’s okay

The first verse would be laughter
Dancing through the sun’s rays
White keys beneath my fingers
Playing the major

The second verse would fog over
minor notes bleeding through
each wrong sound a confession
I prayed no one would hear

The chorus would unravel
Restless chords, circling, choking
A violin played with shards of glass

The third verse would be filled with screaming
Raw and jagged
Into the void where I hoped to disappear
The fourth would fade into silence
And the fifth would hollow to a ghost

Then the devil's interval would loop, waiting for the next line

You said the greatest thing i could do is die,
So i wrote you a letter
Saying goodbye.

It looked like a love letter,
And for you it was,
I tried to make your life better,
Getting rid of all of my flaws
By getting rid of myself.

I said i'll go to hell,
But it's okay cuz i made life heaven for you.
However, you started crying,
Saying you regret your words,
And that you didn't want me dying.

It's too late.

I was running today
And picked  a sunflower
From its stem
As I breezed past
I imagined slipping it
Into your wrinkled, weathered hand
One last gift
And a soft, sad smile
But then my vision goes dark
And I see that same hand
Slicing through the air
The taste of blood in my mouth
Mottling the skin around my eye
I see that same hand
Iron grip around a wooden handle
Slamming my body
Again
And again
That wrinkled, old hand
Hurting me
Time after time
The sound of the slap
Radiating around the house
The screams from my sisters
Caused by that hand
And my fist closes around the perfect
Yellow petals
I run as fast as I can
My fist closed as tight as possible
I drop the sunflower in the mud
And brush the yellow
Off on my shorts
I walk away
Leaving it crumpled
And *****
Sunflower