Carolina 12h
Your pillow smells
like I miss you.
Cupid tells me
to kiss you.
Harmony wants me to
sing to you.
Love flutters in me
like the wind in your hair.
Cupid’s arrow has
hit me hard.
There's history in my hair please don't touch, handle with care.
It's the same as this perfect pigment,
this melanin I wear
Richly rooted in my blood
Whether dark or fair

Sun kissed and kinked in bliss
More love for my 'rough n tough Afro puff'
She shines like the Sahara sun
She smells like the salt of the Gold coast sea.
Theres a hint of the bittersweet seed of the cocoa tree.
Feels like the pillow that holds all your dreams with the dry Harmattan wind brushing against your cheek
She'll whisper secrets of the motherland.... If you get close enough

She holds like Mina
Curls with pride
Falls with grace and integrity.
Stubborn like the struggle of the ones before me.
Gravity defying masterpiece that's just a single piece of me, a reminder of my ancestry.
It's my glory, my covering

Don't take it lightly, don't misunderstand, I'm a work of art so please peep but just don't touch.

© Raphaela Israel Öbeñg
run your fingers
through her hair
before wrapping it
around your fist

she wants both
Remember so well the days of my youth so much time spent looking In a mirror
messing about with my hair late going out because my hair was not looking right
So much Importance placed on just my hair and
now at my age 65, I shaved It all off I'm glad It's no longer there so much for the Importance of playing about with my
So much time wasted as a youth playing about with my hair worse than ladies with a bad hair day
You  will
go  to  your
   home !

Where  are  you
  staying   in
the  city !

Why  did  not
cut  your  long

People  are
asking  thes­e  
Repeatedly  to
a  particular  man.

Millions  of  In­dian
and  world  people
stay  in  city

Millions  o­f
hungry  people
are  staying
without    their
native    home.

Millions  of  
economically  poor
people  could  not
cut  their ­ 
long  hair.

No  one  ask
  that-  when   will
you   go  to
your   home?

Where  are
you  staying  in
the  city?

Why  did  not
c­ut  your  long
If I were granted just one chance to relive again a brief moment In time I'd
go back the first time ever
I laid eyes on her the girl who become my
This girl who could say so much with the look In her eye far more than words could ever say she'd tell I love you with just a  squeeze of her
3 squeezes I love you my reply 4 squeezes I love you too so many things about her I miss so
Just to lay awake at night to watch her sleeping to help dress her In the morning to run a brush through her
The smell of the beautiful perfume she wore Estee Lauder Youth Dew to rest my head on the gentle rise and fall of her
whilst taking all that beautiful perfume In all that and more I shall forever miss any one of those I've mentioned
here I'd be more than happy with
If I we're given a chance to
to relive a brief moment of my previous time for she was so beautiful and loving to
If given a chance to live a brief moment of my previous life over again. It would probably be as simple as brushing her hair
muna Jan 10
i'll cut my hair
and mark my lips with blood
am I beautiful yet?

i'll grow my hair
i'll bleed I swear
am I beautiful yet?

my nails are long
enough to cut
scars deep enough
for these diamonds

and I don't get diamonds
i'm not beautiful
and *** I hate my hair..

can't i just have nice hair....

to hide behind
Steve Page Jan 9
my mother has beautiful thick hair

she has dry still lips
and her chin is raised as if reaching
for that last drop of life
from an unseen glass

she has beautiful rich hair

her colours swiftly drain to grey
and to a colder pigment
but this does nothing
to dim her motherhood

my mother has beautiful thick hair
- that hasn't changed
Moments with my mum and my sisters before we said our goodbyes.
n Jan 8
Plaits in theory seem to hold the threads of your hair together so tightly. But they’re loose, tangled, fragile creations that with one sudden misplaced head turn consequently fall apart.
Plaits are relatable.
What a disgusting metaphor she thought as she continued to plait her hair now in tears.
Quite a playful, ridulous bit of nothing. It reflects how my thought process quickly deteriorates. I feel the ending echos millenial disgust. The name is derrived from the Hunger Games.
when ****
day afternoon
was really
something to
behold in
Nashville with
catastrophic notes
that mother
backs another
day and
timbre her
fortune with
a dainty
song and
hence wake
in market
of blues
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