The wind
brushes through
my hair,
makes my
skin tingle &
wraps me up
in it’s
cold breezing
arms.
- ©Smridhi Lakra
writerReader Jan 2015
sometimes I
reach within
the fragile paper of
this book to
glide
my fingers through
your silver
hair
Samantha Aug 4
I’m sitting here
My lungs feel so heavy
I cant help the thoughts of you
Running through my mind
The way you grip my hips
And touch my lips
The way you push my hair out of my face
Oh I think I need a little space
I am falling for you
But you will never know
People say I should tell you
I tell them to leave me alone
All these lonely nights
I told myself I would stop writing about you
But you’re all I seem to write about
Salem Noxolo Aug 4
Furry thing you are
Sprawled across the floor
And as my eye drapes here and there
All it hears is that which is your hair

As the breezes move on by
They kick up little whirlwinds
Delicate patterns like delirious jigs
Or like small waves like coin spins
And just puffs straight up like geysers.

Curious thing you are
Prancing around the halls
Almost as though you wear a crown
Strutting you may be, perhaps?
Or perhaps flaunting?
Or taunting?
But you're not taunting me.
lara Jul 29
I put makeup on
but not too much
I wore my favorite outfit
straightened my hair

I felt good
and pretty

I left my house
my home
my safe place
then
someone looked at me
a moment too long
a little too judging

today I look pretty
I thought
that's why people look at me
I thought
I am going to be okay

I met friends
and a lot of people
and I couldn't help myself
but felt all eyes were on me
but
not in a good way
in a way
that made me feel uncomfortable
in a way I wanted to sink in the floor
and never come back again
in a way
that made me reconsider
my decisions
of dressing up
of putting makeup on
of straightening my hair
of feeling good
and pretty
Mathis Jul 28
the smell
after the rain
wind whirling through your hair
and laughing
just laughing
Satra-Sia Jul 27
I sit with my afro, tall and round like the trees
I sit with my afro between my mother's knees
And I cry.
She thinks it's because she pulled my hair
I let her feel guilty but really that's not fair
Because it's you.
So as my mother glides the comb through my onyx curls
Your web of lies begins to unfurl
And all at once you were my world
But now you're nothing.
My mother's hands twist my hair into braids
Partings in more ways than one have been made
Memories like my brother's fade
But not for you.
Yours are stronger than my mother's hands
Yet as soft as my Indian strands
And how I wish I could get the clippers and shave
my head and watch my memories of you fall away
But I can't.

So as my mother braids my hair down my back
I remember you and try to forget the fact
That you ran your hands through this Raven hair
Shielded my now tear streaked face from the frozen air
Forget that you loved the coarse strands
As much as the Indian; soft in your hands
So I lock away these memories with each braid
And try to prove to myself that I'm more afraid
Of losing my afro than losing you.


I tell myself that it's my mother pulling that makes me cry
But you and I,
Know that's not true.
The Monster With Blue Hair
Jeers as I cower in the corner
But she’s coming
He’s won
I’m done
The Other will be happy
They’ll be fine and dandy
But she’s coming
And she has her Blue Shield
And a Sword forged for intense war
War on a Blue Field
The Monster With Blue Hair
Will die
Someday
Like His wicked brother of Red
She’s here now
He’s fled
She saved me
Now it’s time for bed
And just like coffee.
Let your aroma tingle and stimulate the smiles of those around.
The best source of touch
Without cream or sugar.
Stir the organic presentation that brings the next minute that much closer.
Whether the preference is a mug or a styrofoam cup.
Remember,
At the end of the day.
Coffee fits into any size container
And brings to life any size smile.
With one quick sip
The senses awake to a new day.
Swirled in unspoken travel sized rule.
It follows,
The beautiful ovation that rushes once poured.
Beautifully represented by your smile.
The tone of your skin.
Your hair naturally at ease.
Stirred by a finger.
Specialism by the majority nodding away,
Yet awaken by your essence.
Soon extracted and brought to life.
Swirling beyond content.
And just like coffee,
I look forward to a cup of you
I was
hers and
still toggle
their feature
as this
cluster in
maudlin with
alluvion tears
as rain
only to
gape acquiescence
there and
strengthen peace
of mind
or frizzy
hair ends
the medallion
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