Yesterday I noticed a few blonde hairs mixed in my chestnut brown hair

They blend in until I looked closer
Little strands barely there

They reminded me of when when I was a child

Sunny hair and a freckled face
Bright blue eyes and an always smile
Big front teeth and rosy pink lips

I forget what it felt like to have blonde hair
I forgot what it was to feel free

I know my childhood was not all smiles
Mostly rainy days and hiding away

But I cherish the moments when the sun came out
And I laid in the dewy grass talking to the trees

I remember now how I loved my blonde hair
That glowed under the shining stars

I remember now how I smiled when I looked in the mirror
Loving my reflection, my whole self

Now as I stare at those few blonde hairs
I remember how beautiful I can be
I remember the child that still lives within me

I hope she never leaves

it is hard to think
of mind when your hair is on
fire put out the fire

I kiss you as if to confirm you are here. With me. Not going anywhere.


To confirm your presence.


I kiss you as I kiss your hands, as I rub your hands, massaging them to make sure they are real. In disbelief, perhaps that it is your hand in mine and that I have the pleasure of holding it.


I run my fingers down your back, soft, your arms, sturdy. I clutch a wiry coil of hair, yours, in my fist.


I smooth your face. I kiss your face.


It is soft. It is safe. It is kind. It is right.

Her curly hair sings!

And it enchants me, it is --


electrostatic.

I hated it.
Every single time
you called me beautiful,
I hated it.

I get it;
I have blue eyes,
long hair,
a thin body.
Everything you wanted.

But there's so much more to me than that.

I bet you wouldn't have liked me
if I had shorter hair
and a little extra weight.
That's why I realized I don't want a guy
who constantly calls me beautiful.

I want to be called
mesmerizing,
fascinating,
breathtaking.

Those words say much more about the real me
than "beautiful" ever will.

If only it were
like a strand of your hair,
like a glimpse of you
in your mirror!

Just like a one perfect sway
into the all-encompassing curve
of the ever-smooth, perfect circle
captures the ultimate decimal of pi!

Shall I still caress

him, stroking through his thin hair?


Will it make him bald?