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moria Apr 26
my hair has started touching my shoulders.

it itches,
the pain of a mistaken identity,
spiraling around me.

this is not me.

my hair does not touch my shoulders,
it blows above me in the wind.

and i
will never be
a girl.
this is an old one !
Diesel Apr 17
She has crescent eyes, like the moon
And ocean hair, like rays of sun:
And when she talks, she talks with you -
Like windy rain that skies sway from:

Her shoes dress red, like her lips
All filled with roses and more red,
Her teeth are white as eyes stay lit;
And when she smiles I smile ahead:

Cherry roses, the cheeks are warm
Budding flower, eye creases bloom:
Happy lover, my heart flares fire
Love fills your eyes, eyes fill my room!
Diesel Feb 7
I took the stars, plucked one by one
And gave to you, but all in vain:
I blew in storms to block the sun;
The bane of time now child’s proclaim:
The spin of earth, too fast for fun,
Oh poor woman, do you hide pain?

Is it behind your summer eyes?
Perhaps beneath that honey hair
Or creeps between those pleasant sighs
Which sound so smoothly through the air?
Or stuffed below witty replies
That come by the night without care?

O such beauty! She’s no evil:
Laugh too innocent, heart too pure,
A walk so calm impatience boils
Under her seductive nature.
Rapture in my love’s perfect coil!
Alas, she is all, all is sure.
her hair was messy in an artfully, mesmerising way
she had an accidental class that she was not aware of possessing
she would answer your questions in a way that kept you guessing
when she would speak
she would make you believe
that she created language in the time that she had free
her hair was messy in an artfully, mesmerising way
she created language in the time that she had free
gracie Apr 2
I wish my mother would let her hair go gray,
but she says it makes no difference black
or silver-streaked. It won’t shine like a young lady’s,
an ivy-league beauty on her way to biochemistry
and it won’t bounce when she laughs at some charming
church boy’s jokes or cascade down her shoulders
when she shakes it from its pins. It’s too sparse now, I think.
Thinned by two children, dulled by one husband.
Only scattered locks to cry behind, wispy
memories from darker, warmer days that fade
with the dye like overexposed polaroids
stashed in the back of a dresser.
that red hair that burns as bright as the love i have for her
the red hair that i fell in love with the first time i saw her
that red hair that i search for every time I think of her
that red hair that has cause me so much pain
that red hair that caused me so much happiness
that red hair that i want back in my arms, loving me
that red hair that i see with someone else
that red hair that has moved one, leaving me behind
that **** red hair.....
i reach out and touch golden
- golden, not blonde -
locks of hair,
spiralled into ringlets
with small dewdrops
(the size of baby mouse eyes)
scattered atop
and it kind of resembles
honeysuckle after
the lightest drizzle
J Mar 20
my hair will not spit sparks if you brush it
it will cling onto your hands
the brush
your shirt and shorts
the ones that ride up against your thigh
my hair will not curl lovingly around your fingers
it will grab onto anything put through it
it will keep you here
a part of me forever, the way it should be
my hair will not remind you of flames
but maybe of a lion
though easily tamed is it when
it's sprawled across your lap
your nails gingerly scratching my scalp
my hair will not cascade down my back
ever so gracefully masking the scars from my past
teasing you in its waves
it will claw against my spine, it will dare you to draw near
my hair will not remind you of an ocean
spread out so perfectly as I run,
molding against a perfect sunset
it will be a beast, sneering at you
luring you closer, begging to be chased
it will make you its prey
my hair will not be brushed out
my favorite knot will be entertainment,
lack of motivation in its calligraphy,
you see it as a cry for help,
it is my declaration of power.
my hair will not spit sparks when you brush it.
it will be the forest and flames all in one,
and when you're choking on the smoke,
you'll remember that hair is power.
to touch it is to drain it.
I empty all
into your talons
because my hair will remind you of a monster
and your breath will be its leash.
I did not really think it through
When the first few strands of my hair came falling to the floor.

But then again I don't really want to think.

That was the point.

As the blunt kitchen scissors sheared what was left of the choppy mess on my head

I am worthless.
That's what you always tell me.

I don't want to think.

You never really did love me.

You always left cuts and bruises on me
Never letting me heal for your own selfish reasons.

You are never at fault.
But you've certainly made your mark.

Now I can only attempt to cut what damage you've done to me out of my life.

My fragile locks scattered around on the cold tile floor.

I can't bear to look.

You don't know what you've done.
You never will as much as I wish you would.
More strands fall from my shaking hands.

I wish I could cut you out.

Hello mental breakdown
Leyya Sauna Mar 14
alas I have completed
the long and arduous process of putting away my delicate
strands of hair.

the years i spent
not knowing my curls
are my crown
is just not fair
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