At night I dream of
waking up tangled
within the curls of your hair.

[DK]
Baylee Kaye Jun 7
I want to know what your hair looks like in the morning, see it’s natural state of being.
see it for what it usually is, minus the blondes and blues I want to see what’s truly you.
rustled from the bed sheets, twisted in a million different directions, lose strands framing your face.

I’m curious to what your hair is like in the morning.
what it looks like in its comfort, un-staged and not dolled up to perfection.
I want to see how it falls freely, it’s assigned color shining proudly after being dipped in dyes,
curled and straightened and braided and parted.

I want to see it done by the night, styled by the pillows and the position in which you slept.
I want to see how rest and peace paint you in all your morning glory.
I wonder how certain membs’ hair looks -completely natural- in the morning time.
We had moments of sunshine that fuelled our laughs,
that stay there stuck in photographs.
A short hairstyle fit for a queen,
who’ll be dancing perfectly to eighteen.
It’s you and me now, long hair girl,
our emotions are slowly becoming unfurled.

We know she had perfect reasons to leave,
We know we were almost too naive.

Small ginger curls won’t run outside anymore,
no more trips with our friend to the store.
It’s concrete, the damage he has done to us both,
destroying  the bond we shared by oath.
We loved each other,
there’s no need to suffer.

We know she had perfect reasons to leave,
We know we were almost too naive.
Who would know, we’d reach this age without one another?
Who would know, we’d have a war to uncover?
We were weak, but that’s not our faults dear,
we were just young and filled with cheer.
But we’ll keep strong, he may have lied,
but I will always keep you by my side.

We know she had perfect reasons to leave,
We know we were almost too naive.
It was a few years after, we were in our mid years as teenagers, they were both 14? I was roughily around that age myself. Me and Rosie’s friend had came out to some personal stuff and the long story short, she had to leave, taking her two sisters with her.

It destroyed me for a long time, not having her or her sisters around. They were a huge part of our life. Admittedly, the said friend, had a lot of people not a 100% happy with her or for her, but when she told me what had happened, I understood completely, almost too well for our age.

I haven’t actually spoke or seen her sisters since and it’s heartbreaking. She, herself, I haven’t spoken to much, and I fear sometimes I might be a trigger for her emotional feelings. Knowing that, can be really saddening.

It’s just a shame that one person’s bad actions, could split up a group of happy young kids, who just wanted to be there for one another and love one another.  It was overall, just a tragedy how we stopped speaking properly. I hope one day I can speak to her again in honesty, I do miss her greatly, but sadly life has not given me that opportunity yet, maybe I just got to keep knocking on more doors.

I am happy that her coming out about her personal struggles did encourage other people I knew to come out about their struggles as well – including myself. I am grateful for her impact.

This poem’s form is mostly in similarity to a Lyric poem; These types of poems are extremely personal and in honesty it was a first-hand try of this poem type and I do think I got the feeling behind the poem correctly.
There are three girls walking there,
all with different shades of hair.
One cut short, another long,
my ponytail in the sun.
When I was young, I used to love having my hair in a ponytail; and it hasn’t changed until this day! When growing up, I would often be in the sun, having fun in the garden of my Grandmother’s with my cousin Rosie and our friend who I shall keep unnammed, who we stated was a cousin as well, just because she felt like family.

We were very innocent, wonderful and happy as could be! After all, we were kids, yet it always melted my heart how even though we were as different as can be, we all still loved each other.

We loved pretending, imagining, singing, dancing and often even hurting each other on purpose by placing a seesaw on the top of a hill and waiting for the first one of us to fall off of it! It was hilarious how foolish we were, devious at best.

We were just a bunch of fun-loving kids and I wanted to show our simplistic nature through being inspired by Limerick poetry. It seemed fun, silly and definitely a delight to try!
Rohan Press Jun 2
i scattered flowers
in her

hair (they

always
seemed to wane
with the moon
Sanny May 31
The butterflies of freedom are filling me.

I want to run, with the wind in my hair.

Towards the sun.

I feel light as a feather.

I can go anywhere, and do anything.

Wherever the sun will take me.
Frances Rose May 24
They tell me friends are the family that you chose, but the boy with the curly hair is not my family and he is not my friend. Still, the boy with curls that twist like tornados has hair that's just like mine.
Ferocious brown hair loops on the top of his head like mattress springs and bounces like children on trampolines. His hair is just like mine.
My hair twists around itself and reaches to my chin. The strands coil like corkscrews and then they end up in millions of knots. These knots turn to naps tied on my hair, and what is supposed to be glorious locks, becomes a bird’s nest.
But the boy with the curly hair doesn’t have to worry about the pulling his hair with brushes and the boy with the curly hair is unfazed by the people who stare at him. He doesn’t have to care.
He walks boastfully and without hesitation. He does not comb his hair. I comb my hair. I am a lion, like he, so I tame my mane, so I iron it over and over and over til’ there is no trace of what used be. My hair only screams and screams, I know it wants to be free.  
Now every time I iron my hair until flat, the boy with the curly hair looks at me with shame in his eyes. Why? Because we are of the same kin. Me and him. We are the boy and girl with wild, wild curly hair. And we are aware our hair is messy.
No Notes
AAron Roz May 23
Bleached, dyed, trimed, styled.
Faded, ripped, blue, worn.
Tanned, tattooed, bruised, cut.
Blue, hazel, gray, brown.
Painted, polished, chipped, bit.
Kind, hothead, caring, jerk.
What do you think these things are?
Simra Sadaf May 22
her beauty
enslaved your heart,
freckles on her face
like an imperfectly perfect art,
your fingers wander
across her velvet like skin,
her grace, her wisdom,
helping you fight your sins,
sunlight beams
through her hair,
touching your heart and soul
her laughter floats in the air.
Amanda May 22
The ocean is a powerful, all-knowing being.
She causes the wind to whip my hair over my shoulders,
while the salt stings my eyes, making it hard to see clearly.
She leads me along the damp sand and entraps me there.
This endless, all-knowing being whispers in a low gravelly hum,
to let the cold bitter waves soak my feet.
I bravely oblige and turn my body towards the water,
stopping to feel each wave gain new control over me.
I'm getting what I deserve.
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