#braids - Hello Poetry

Multiple braids equal multiple roots, in the direction my fingers scoots. Loose braids, robust cornrow braids in a stack, chanting all the way down my back. A loose rope, or a robust bridge. You know which root to take…. Justine Louisy Copyright © Justine Louisy 2016 All Rights Reserved

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Jun 29, 2020

Jun 29, 2020 at 8:26 AM UTC

JustPoetrySeeds

Braids

Multiple braids equal multiple roots, in the direction my fingers scoots. Loose braids, robust cornrow braids in a stack, chanting all the way down my back. A loose rope, or a robust bridge. You know which root to take…. Justine Louisy Copyright © Justine Louisy 2016 All Rights Reserved

11

Torn out Tightly yet intricately woven Pulled up high Half-dead Twisted Excessively washed, cleaned, and dried Straightened Fried Surprised it hasn't all fallen out yet

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May 2, 2019

May 2, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC

FMH

Hair

Torn out Tightly yet intricately woven Pulled up high Half-dead Twisted Excessively washed, cleaned, and dried Straightened Fried Surprised it hasn't all fallen out yet

9

Ah, I remember her well. She used to roam the woods brandishing her scepter of sticks Commanding the creatures of the forest The blue jays loved her, all the animals loved her, but, especially those blue jays They brought her gifts. And accompanied her on all her adventures And watched her from the branches In return She gave offerings of bread and warm milk And wore their feathers in her hair Oh my, her hair was a wild mess Sticks Pebbles Feathers And Braids And somehow That wild tangled mess Made me smile She made everyone smile She took a particular liking to me I watched over her but in reality she watched over me Imagine that a little girl pep in her step and sparkle in her eye taking care of a scarred man like me We had a trade a weekly occurrence A story for a story A tale for a tale She would whisper a story filled to the brim with fairies and trolls and trees with purple blossoms and golden roots I would hand her knowledge about the world She saw the truth in people called them flavors said mine was a cup of hot chocolate spiked with peppermint I once asked her what her truth is asked her about her flavor Frosting and moondust she said with a smile Now don't look at me like that, She had her flaws Even the most magnificent paintings faded with time. What happened you ask? She grew up And everything changed The winds didn't carry the scent of honeysuckle And the crickets never sang. She cut her hair. And her smile was guarded Weighted down by a heavy stone. The Bluejays observed solemnly from the dead tree branches As she withered away The forest no longer hummed And the town never felt so lonely Even I lost a piece of me When she got on that train Without a wave goodbye Maybe one day The creek will chuckle again And she will come back and Finish that story About the king and his butterflies And I will tell the tale About the origin of the moon. But, perhaps that is just an old man's wishful thinking. ~

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Mar 5, 2019

Mar 5, 2019 at 7:07 PM UTC

anonymous_narwhal

Bluejays & Braids

Ah, I remember her well. She used to roam the woods brandishing her scepter of sticks Commanding the creatures of the forest The blue jays loved her, all the animals loved her, but, especially those blue jays They brought her gifts. And accompanied her on all her adventures And watched her from the branches In return She gave offerings of bread and warm milk And wore their feathers in her hair Oh my, her hair was a wild mess Sticks Pebbles Feathers And Braids And somehow That wild tangled mess Made me smile She made everyone smile She took a particular liking to me I watched over her but in reality she watched over me Imagine that a little girl pep in her step and sparkle in her eye taking care of a scarred man like me We had a trade a weekly occurrence A story for a story A tale for a tale She would whisper a story filled to the brim with fairies and trolls and trees with purple blossoms and golden roots I would hand her knowledge about the world She saw the truth in people called them flavors said mine was a cup of hot chocolate spiked with peppermint I once asked her what her truth is asked her about her flavor Frosting and moondust she said with a smile Now don't look at me like that, She had her flaws Even the most magnificent paintings faded with time. What happened you ask? She grew up And everything changed The winds didn't carry the scent of honeysuckle And the crickets never sang. She cut her hair. And her smile was guarded Weighted down by a heavy stone. The Bluejays observed solemnly from the dead tree branches As she withered away The forest no longer hummed And the town never felt so lonely Even I lost a piece of me When she got on that train Without a wave goodbye Maybe one day The creek will chuckle again And she will come back and Finish that story About the king and his butterflies And I will tell the tale About the origin of the moon. But, perhaps that is just an old man's wishful thinking. ~

76

My policy is typically tied up in a pony tail easy efficient out of my eyes But sometimes... it gets monotonous and tied to my more introverted me academic me I've tried braids brings me back to elementary school Several people called me cute Certainly, I embody a twelve year old I tried a headband not bad yet, the fluffy strands continue to get in the water fountain when I'm drinking Hair out? The first one I tried free but messy Everywhere in my eyes The me, that will roll down a grassy hill just cause So, which one is it or something...more? Is it just hair? Is it linked to my identity? I dunno But maybe I'll find out ... What is it to you?

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Oct 9, 2018

Oct 9, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC

CynicalStrawberry

Hair

My policy is typically tied up in a pony tail easy efficient out of my eyes But sometimes... it gets monotonous and tied to my more introverted me academic me I've tried braids brings me back to elementary school Several people called me cute Certainly, I embody a twelve year old I tried a headband not bad yet, the fluffy strands continue to get in the water fountain when I'm drinking Hair out? The first one I tried free but messy Everywhere in my eyes The me, that will roll down a grassy hill just cause So, which one is it or something...more? Is it just hair? Is it linked to my identity? I dunno But maybe I'll find out ... What is it to you?

48

She was light Light that colored and filled the room Her black skin glowed where ever she went She was the sweetness in people's mouths Her braids in the sun made an aura around her Almost like she was an angel Maybe she was

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Dec 6, 2017

Dec 6, 2017 at 3:52 AM UTC

greenmintleaves

light beauty

She was light Light that colored and filled the room Her black skin glowed where ever she went She was the sweetness in people's mouths Her braids in the sun made an aura around her Almost like she was an angel Maybe she was

7

When I was a little girl, Mama always put my hair in two pigtail braids. She'd separate it so one was on each shoulder, and then gave me a finishing twirl. Never have I ever thought of what the hair felt like. From day one in science class, I was taught it was dead cells, nothing more, nothing less. Never have I ever thought of how it felt to be pulled so tight. It's taken a few years, and I've long since grown out of the pigtail braids. Now, I make them more fancy, a french braid or a fancy one to the side. Maybe this is a lesson, that things only get pulled tighter and tighter with hidden rage and growing age. Never have I ever known how fast a stressed and pulled heart fades.

0

May 10, 2015

May 10, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC

sera-amour

Braids

When I was a little girl, Mama always put my hair in two pigtail braids. She'd separate it so one was on each shoulder, and then gave me a finishing twirl. Never have I ever thought of what the hair felt like. From day one in science class, I was taught it was dead cells, nothing more, nothing less. Never have I ever thought of how it felt to be pulled so tight. It's taken a few years, and I've long since grown out of the pigtail braids. Now, I make them more fancy, a french braid or a fancy one to the side. Maybe this is a lesson, that things only get pulled tighter and tighter with hidden rage and growing age. Never have I ever known how fast a stressed and pulled heart fades.

12