I sleep knowing,
      I’m always close to the edge of death
I believe in the air,
      never thinking much to count a breath

I sit comfortably in public,
      not knowing the age of the chair
I accept a leader’s change,
      never questioning if it’s actually fair

I ride passenger,
      never wondering if the driver feels suicidal
I say amen as a crowd,
      not knowing if the people even believe in the Bible

I lie, I cry, I love, I hate, I forgive, I resent,
     I live to treat, but sometimes I need one’s care

But as a man,
     I cannot cheat on my barber, when it comes to my hair.

tell me, what's the key to your thoughts
do you have them locked in your locs –

chasing after a touch of those tangled thoughts
running fingers through your hair, but your
dreads are too thick - still that's alright

                      at least I have you tonight.

Its been three months
her hairs long now
it cascades down her back
moving as she walks closer to me,
grows closer to me.
I wonder how she feels when she sees me,
how she feels when she sees me standing there waiting.
all i see is guilt, and on top of that shame.
shame how it ended the way it did,
guilt on the way i acted.
i don't know if i should speak,
and if i did,
if she would respond.

Long windy winter night,
Couldn't reach my heart's flaming fight.
Screaming out to me,
"Go to her, fool, you love her."
I never thought,
I'd fall so hard.
But darling, your hair,
It's just like the rolling sand dunes of the lake.
I want to run my hands through it,
And feel what it's like to be loved.
I see it in your eyes,
Your so lonely.
But there's no world where you could be mine,
Your beautiful, I'm a freak.
But I could kindle your candle,
Keep you in the heat.
Leave me, my fear,
I won't let you ruin this moment,
Not this time.
I'll take you to the hills,
With fields of wild flowers.
I can show you love like you never had,
If you just let me in.
How am I,
Spiraling so,
Far,
Just from,
Your lovely hair?

I want long hair again;
Fingers kissing my skin as they thread through waves.
I want long hair again;
Pretend I'm a mermaid under the showerhead.
I want long hair again;
Twist and tie, in different styles, a new me every day.
I want long hair again;
Use them as curtains, a shelter from thieving eyes.

I want long hair again;
But here I stand, once again,
At my scissors' mercy.
Chasing that sweet relief—
From the weight around my neck.
They say hair holds memories—
I need my mind empty.

My family has a miscellany of hair, yet we complement each other perfectly.

Papi has short hair like a dark chocolate shrub. His beard is kept short and is rough like sandpaper, contrasting with his lively outgoing self and he has a bit hanging below his lip that he occasionally twirls around his finger.

Mama has long soft hair that is kept formally straight and tidy as a ruler for outings and work but can revert to its wild self at home.

My older sister has the hair of a firebrand that never seems to stay in order. It’s kept a jungle of curls, curlicues decorating the edges.

My little sister, the youngest, has “long long” hair. “Long long” hair, as soft as the down of a chick. “Long long” hair, dark like her nightly chocolate milk. “Long Long” hair, perfumed with aromas of pizza and hair oil. “Long long” hair, untamed and wild as a lion cub. “Long Long” hair, in braids, pigtails, pony, and puff. “Long long” hair, like a princess— the regime of our apartment, like the mermaid who had long since found her voice. Just barely reaches below the shoulder, and has yet to get her first haircut. “Long long” hair, she says. “Long long” hair, like the “big kid” she is.