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Nyx Sep 2018
Roaring with colours
Wonderful and bright
Filled with the people
Who bring me such light

Dyed with their colours
All the reds and the blues
Staining my heart
Creating a wonderful work of art

A little bit of each person
Some a little more
Mixing new tones everyday
As each day its like an all out war

The colors they contrast
Making me who I am
Though some overpower me
Destroying parts of who I am

Though in the end I'm still me
Influence and painted by the people
Even if some parts are grey, dark and black
The rest is beautiful filled with the light of my history

From the colors of the rainbow and everything unseen
A walking masterpiece of colors
Drenched with dripping paint
Leaving my own mark on many others

Adding my own touch to who they are
b Dec 2017
There are certain parts of misery
That never made sense to me.
I never caught on to the self harm thing,
I figured I already felt bad enough.
I never drank it away,
Because a hangover was just a reminder
That putting a coat on
Doesn't stop the snow.
DABDA doesn't make sense either.
How can you be angry
About something you haven't accepted yet?

I do now understand masochism.
I certainly don't practice it,
But I get it.

The thing with masochism
Is that you really have to love it.
You really have to let go.
My nerves are just nerves.
My skin is just skin.
My eyes just make drawings out of ****.
******* purple from the fourth wall
Letting the people eat a different truth.

My brain on a steady loop
Of Whose Line Is It Anyway reruns
Just waiting to invent the next thing
We all take for scripture.
I'm going to go to bed now, and if this doesn't make sense when I read it over in the morning I will delete it because I am too tired to tell if I've actually formed sentences or not.
Oluwatosin Jul 2017
When dirt becomes a dye
no one has to tell a joke
people will naturally laugh with the hyenas
Howling and hiccuping
before they tear into grimly flesh.

They’ll talk to one another
in fits and starts.
Spotting stains on mopped tiles
Their tongue, the hammer of the judge,
stripping the “sanitation agencies” off
their robe of service.

Their society gradually becomes an appendicitis
It's streets drowned in *******
But it won't really bother the people

Until the day the fat maggot chokes on sewage

Then they'll gather together
And wonder what just happened
Copyright ©Ogunmola I.O
23rd June 2017
Jonah Long Mar 2016
Artists paint with ink and dyes
Others sculpt with clay.
But only a poet paints with words
What never fades away
Husbands, raise your hands
Keep them up if you love your wife
Keep them up if you colour your wifes hair
Okay, this is for the three of us that are left....

I did my wife a favour
As I do, because I can
I help her when I'm able
Not just because I am a man

I **** bugs when requested
I do the laundry like I should
I clean the bathroom when it's *****
And by doing so , feel good

Every few weeks I will help her
Hide the grey that she can see
I don't volunteer to do it
But it's cheap to hire me

A salon visit is expensive
Doing hair, and waiting hours
I just slip on my latex hand wear
And I have a bag full of super powers

Yes, I help my wife get couloured
I take the time and do her hair
I also, get it on the tiles
Up the wall and on two chairs

The dog gets covered just a little
The rug, a window and the bed
But, we always buy two packets
So, there's enough to do her head

I have a jacket slightly mottled
It's got a few brown spots, some red
I don't know exactly how it happened
I even got some on our bed

Just call me Mr. Kenneth
In my jumpsuit doing hair
I get it where I think she needs it
And I spray it everywhere

She comes out looking gorgeous
She's always happy with the result
She always looks a little different
Like someone who believes in the occult

If you're a husband who likes money
Save it, colour your wife's hair
Your part only takes ten minutes
You need ten towels, one mask, one chair

It brings us both closer together
My arms look like a leopard skin
All my shirts are slightly spotted
But all those spots, make me look thin

I've got to go now and get cleaned up
The carpets ruined, so's the wood
But, she's happy and we all know that
If the wife is happy....all is good!
Audrey Maday Mar 2015
She dyed her hair
Every time she lost a person,
Her hair has been,
More than 15 colours.
Wilhelmina Jan 2015
So yes,

Feel free to paint my scalp any color you choose.
Massage color into my listless locks, and let the pigment seep through
the tiny, pin needle cracks in my skull.

I want to see the dye behind my eyes.
I want to feel the kaleidoscope making my broken mind beautiful again.

You are an artist, a concentration of stars, the gentle breath of a wayward nebula ambling through space and time.

Stars are in your eyes, my love, and I wouldn't have you any other way.

I am a hummingbird heart on a ripped up sleeve, a bumbling creature that brims with pretty words that are too big for her halfway heart mouth.

As you preen and paint, darling, save me this. I don't care what you paint me as- another mistake, a prayer on trembling lips, or manic mumblings after midnight...

Just christen my hair with your fingers when we're done. Run them through so that I can shake out stardust afterwards. Kiss me so I can taste honey on my breathe long after you've gone away.

Love me like I'm a promise worth keeping.
They say our bodies
Are like canvases
Waiting for us to become artists
To portray our lives, for all to see.

The canvas that I own,
Is not any less beautiful than yours

I have marks from the world,
And hair dye running down my spine
Pink and purple lines trail down my thighs

Sighing deeply I stare in the mirror,
Is my canvas tainted?
LeaveThisLife Sep 2014
There's so much red.
Swirling around my toes,
Running through my fingers,
Staining my hands,
Dripping down my face.
Dying my hair red turns my shower into a ****** scene.
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