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Andrew Parker Dec 2013
Follicle Poem
December 6, 2013

A mental relapse occurs.
I see hands plowing through my head of hair
They continue to grasp at the roots,
as if attempting to expose a truth hidden underneath.
But what secrets could bequeath a hair follicle?
Well, one might tell a tale.

Scared of the dark, a 6 year old Wynn laid awake in bed.
He prolonged the inevitable destitution of a dream state.
No longer wanting to accept a reoccurring nightmare,
he took to a dreary exercise of staying awake in the dark.
One hair follicle today may tell of how,
on that night it did not rise in a panicked state.
Wynn had finally conquered his fear of the dark.

"Something felt different today," said Follicle #567.
A new shampoo.
But more than that, strange scissors.
"Who is this new person cutting Wynn's hair now?"
remarked one hair follicle,
"I wonder what happened to the usual lady?"
She had passed away.

An emerging chest hair observed the extended family has grown recently.
"Darker relatives who look different and live in other regions of the world.
Who are they and why do they get treated differently?
Nobody has heard of the ***** region in the southern hemisphere,
or armpit land where our hair family members supposedly smell weird."
The perspective of a follicle in puberty.

"The loud sound of electricity and gears grinding scares me.
There is a storm which ravishes our lands.
First, a foamy cloud surrounds us.
Next, comes a sharp stinging sensation,
not a pleasant feeling to be set free from your roots.
A tidal wave crashes, washing away my follicle friends and family forever.
Then, the lightning strikes - dooming us all."
A ****** follicle's worst fear.

"We are a persevering bunch.
We cling to our conventions and grow, grow, grow.
But recently Wynn has done something new.
We thought he was feeding us honey,
so treacherous.
Sticky goop and stiff paper will be the end of us all.
Nobody wants to admit follicles are second-class citizens to smooth skin."
Waxing prematurely takes the lives of several million follicles annually.

"A rebel group of follicles known as the 'In-Growns' are up to no good.
They scheme with the pimples, plotting when and where to strike next.
I worry about Wynn - wish he could know we aren't all so ill-intentioned."
Follicle culture is derived from parenting, not just biology or anatomical location.

"The last of my kind, I have been contaminated with chemicals.
My color changed to blue.
I've heard the ancient legends about follicles once turned blonde.
We need to appease the summer sun god.
The others have all shriveled up or been brutally betrayed by the locals.
In hiding, we worry the scissor insurgents will discover our locations.
All I wanted was the freedom to express myself,
to be seen for who I really am - not just some color."
Follicles experience discrimination for numerous reasons.

"Drugs.
I can feeeel them in my DNA.
Something about me has changed and I like it.
Living life on the wild side these days.
I don't shower and don't care if I am greasy.
Every other follicle’s fears are irrational.
I'm gonna spread the word and grow out a bit.
Because that's what they expect of me, isn't it?
I mean, what good could come out of a drugged up follicle,
other than more waste of scalp space?"
Follicles who use drugs recreationally receive negative labels and harsh stigma.

"The wavy goodness from a gel rub,
is the highlight of the week.
We are fine, fresh, and fierce, ready to set the standard for follicle fashion.
If you are one of those lower class follicles,
who can't afford gel.
No worries - some might trickle down...
Just kidding!
Spray supports our monopoly on hair care products."
Fashionable follicles are extra sassy and have socio-economic privilege.

The relapse ends.
My head suddenly feels heavy,
swarmed with the hair follicle chronicles.
And the hands running through my head of hair become inspired.
They begin to tell their tales of times passed in Wynn's life.

Perspective means everything.
Randi G Dec 2014
You told me that you have
Over one million hair follicles
And I believe you.
I do.
But, if it’s okay, I’ve never counted
To one million before.
I heard it takes a really long time,
But after I count all of the spots
The hair grows out of you,
I want to count all your freckles
And connect them like constellations.
You’re just like the universe to me
And each freckle is a star.
There are lots of stars we can’t
See with the naked eye,
But I want to find those too.
If that’s okay.
Al  Oct 2018
Crazy
Al Oct 2018
Melting down, crossing barriers, breaking out, stepping round.

Pieces fragmenting, character isolating.  Green-acid, hair follicles, white is the blank slate, painting blues with reds.

Freaks from a sideshow, muscles in the sea, six-packs in a grog-shop, dancing improperly.

Beguiled by your bounce, sleep-walking this town.  Fine is the white wine, poisoning the liver, spining on a sixpence, ******* follows dinner.
Damaré M  Oct 2016
Extracted
Damaré M Oct 2016
When she left she couldn't help but to leave that soft and sweet fragrant scent behind. You right, love is blind. There are other senses which make me miss her. Don't get me wrong, she is a enthralling flower. However I'm only reminiscing on the way she lingers, I'm drawn in by every 'come here' gesture of her finger. The openness of my nostrils, the little chill hills which coexist with my follicles. Jasmine... she is so honorable.
You could've been my body scent forever.
Tempestuous longings from behind the screen of life’s moving picture
You stare back at me, in a glimmering, shimmering afterthought
Laid low by foregoing passion
In a moment’s torrid glimpse from our hollow reflections
Fragrant evenings during seasons of filming
Solemnly captured and revised then experienced
The all encompassing struggle with context and setting
Abides a steely night, in the rustle of autumn branches
Requiem for an unremitting beloved!
Sung in the valley between piercing peaks of sorrow
She floats through the scene as distinct aura and vague essence
An embrace from the trail of vapors and misspent gestures
All emanating from a glass of cider beneath nostrils
Gracefully, you embank on the wind of time’s shadow
And nudge my cheek with impetus and vigor
Lashing out at my skin in ambivalent revelry
As if my follicles were vacuous caverns
Catching the callous moments which flutter the ***** of hillside tents
The unearthly gusts of banality extinguish the projector’s gleam
While nature embodies your beauty furthermore
Toward the end of the pathway
And the credits of the film
And the allegro of the score
And the solitude of eternity
And the rustling of the branches
Crystal Freda Apr 2022
Wild splashes of beaming

Azure brushing back and forth

Tottering briskly on granite rocks

Enlightening excitement to our eyes

Radiance of teal drops sprinkle salt

Follicles misting up the atmosphere

Activating a rushing rippling of waves

Lashing playfully with each other

Looping to a sensational surprise
Written in March 2019
Aaron McDaniel  Nov 2012
Sandbars
Aaron McDaniel Nov 2012
Gold sandy beaches flow from her follicles
Eyes like oceans, the Atlantic and Pacific are storming with jealousy
Her personality washes over slowly, low tide waves calm treacherous nerves
I use to navigate these water so well, acting the part of a sailor
These days, I consider myself lucky to hear her crash against the shore
My fingertips will never forget the feeling of sand between them
This is for Hannah, but it deserved a better name than a generic "Self Tittle"
I challenged myself to write a poem for anyone and everyone of my friends that retweeted a tweet on my twitter. This is one of them.
tc  Jan 2016
indian sunset
tc Jan 2016
and I would give everything I have to see your eyes light up like streetlamps and you know that time in summer where the steady glow from daylight merges into night time and the breeze dances along the leaves of trees too tall like ballerinas; so gentle if you blink you’ll miss the sway of them? that’s what you remind me of.

you are a glow, an indian sunset and I long to be the sea your sun shine kisses and when your glow transcends into moonlight I long to be the stars who are accompanied by your effervescent light night after night and you know to me you will always be a ******* sunset when you should be rainfall: you pour down on everything I love and leave puddles;  you cause unapologetic floods in the crevices of my collarbones and attach your saltwater to the follicles of my hair and you warp the words on the pages of love letters I never sent and when you fall down my cheeks my teardrops and your raindrops will merge and for a moment we will become one and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. to be one with you. to be a ******* indian sunset in your illuminous eyes.

I keep running through the hallways of my mind and your voice is bouncing off the walls and echoing straight through my chest and there’s a thudding that gets louder and louder, like bongo drums, every time and I’m pretty sure my heart is now a gallery of us, open for public consumption and they can walk along the hallways and appreciate the beauty of our profound love like you never could.

one day you will find someone who melts your heart into your veins until it feels like the oxygen around your body is trapped and screaming for you to try to breathe, try to breathe harder and you’ll scream for them and they’ll stop returning your calls and there’ll be no texts and everything you once had will sink – almost in slow motion, almost as intangible as the idea that I loved you harder than anyone ever could – a ship where you’re the only person aboard and you’ll be watching an indian sunset like you watched their fingertips trace the curvature of your hips for the last time and you’ll realise in that moment that they were your indian sunset and man, don’t you just wish for some rainfall?
Debra A Baugh Jun 2012
his touch lingers
caressing intimately
feeling his lips
graze the breadth
of me

mesmerized...

scent of him remain
in deep recesses of
my mind

enthralled...

as if, he's still pulsates
within; each ****** ignites,
every glide excites

I sigh in beggary...

as whispers in thoughts of
him dwell deep; tongue
penetrates, body relentlessly, seeps

loving me from my hair follicles
to my toes...

in thought, I languidly pose

mesmerized...
Yeah it's one shot one ****

Plottin' against my enemies will soon to be killed
Bullets feedin' ya last meal
Dope rhymes sedatin' like pharmacy pills
Since hataz got no chill heads I'll drill  now you leakin' out like oil spills
Or a radiator angelic caters none could create a
Flows nasty as mine poppin' a multiplicity of shells I'm one of a kind
Thoughts intertwined  
****** into a demons intervention contenders in suspension from the soul lynching
Caught in the realms of heaven and hell & you can smell
The ashes burning fermentin'
time runnin' slower than molasses
My murders be classic enemies dramatic causin' static
Shoot more than Bird combined with Magic
Workin' my Johnson on the tracks tonsils sittin' as a hip hop consul underground magul  
**** longer than Repunzels hair follicles
Cookin' up sigils into a *** of gold no rainbow snortin' sir nose
D'void of Funk rattlin' the earth from the bass in my trunk blazin' skunks
Abraxas I'm embracin' one of my goetias when facin' ain't no replacin'
Fools givin' chase
and to tastes of demonic faces
My flows replenish like **** laces
Blunts turn into ashes dump it out on the masses
Epidemic mase deaden your pace hazardous like toxic waste
Adversaries don't wanna face
Off like Nicolas to Travolta livin' in an ultra violent culture
Cleatin' into ya flesh I be the stalkin' Vulture mulchin' ya
'til ya
  A dissembled particle blank photo in the article from curvin' emcees with my surgical
lyrical sickle stare into ya eyes as the blood trickles
Down ya body you easily brickled rhymes artificial
My soul sour as a pickle no tickles
Could move me or influence thee my legacy
Lay cinematography like A. Hitchcock in the 50s huh
Ya soon to be a death reel for thrills
Rememeber
All I need is one shot one **** forreal!!!!
Perig3e Jan 2011
This night
toe to toe
knee to knee
follicles embracing follicles
belly to belly
******* to *******
palms to palms
lips to lips
we watch with envy
our avatars.
All rights reserved by the author

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