#shampoo
"Hmm, lavender"
He murmured into my hair
He smiled against my scalp sensing my despair
I smiled up at him "my shampoo"
His hands on me feel taboo
And suddenly
I regret
Washing my hair
With
Lavender shampoo
Mar 19, 2025
Mar 19, 2025 at 8:25 AM UTC
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Scrubbing my scalp until it bleeds
Red running down my face
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Spraying my hairspray and dry shampoo after
Perfume fills the air
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Picking up the strands falling out
The shower wall filled
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Hoping when she grabs me in for a hug
I no longer smell like home
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Looking in the mirror hoping to keep her out
But realizing i'm just like her
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 11:03 AM UTC
The water droplets on your back glisten like diamonds.
How can I not want you?
Your hair is slicked back with shampoo lathered in your dark waves.
How can I not desire you?
You ever so carefully take the soap and cascade it down your arms and legs.
What could be better than this?
You look at me,
Standing under the water,
With my curls falling down on my shoulders.
You touch my cheek, ever so gently, and
You smile.
What could ever compare to this moment?
You pull me closer to you;
You wrap your arms around me.
Just you and I, under the hot water, with steam clouding in the air. (With the occasional bubble)
***** as ever,
And still, I have never felt so clean.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
I am poetry.
My back is the spine.
My arms turn into the cover.
My fingers smooth into pages.
The prints printed on my thumbs bleed words.
I am a poem,
Every single part of me.
I am all the thoughts the human race has ever had.
I am the mother, I am the dad.
When you want a piece of poetry to feed your mind—
I'll peel the layers off my thumb, ‘til they form sentences,
I'll bend my fingers back, back until they turn into stanzas,
I'll snap my arms crooked, ‘til they cry out titles,
I'll arch my back, and screech as they brand me with the name of my owner.
I am a haiku.
The original OG.
You can't handle me.
I am a sonnet,
Betrothed to Shakespeare.
Like a kid learning his alphabet, and he gets stuck on G:
AB(AB)-CD(CD)-EF(EF)-GG.
My couplets are more star-crossed than Romeo and Juliet could ever be.
I am T.S Eliot here to sing you love songs—
Don’t you cast me to The Waste Land.
I am Maya Angelou ‘bout to free the bird from its cage—
And still I rise.
I am Emily Dickinson finally stopping for death—
You can’t **** me.
I am living, breathing poetry.
My veins bleed poetry—fear this blood.
My eyes cry poetry—see these words.
My shampoo brand is poetry—feel these curls.
Rise,
Stand,
And take up the pen.
Poetry is our oxygen.
Let us all breathe it in.
Our words will save this nation.
From a simple sentence to a conversation.
We are poetry.
We will save the world.
You are poetry.
You can change the world.
I am poetry.
Use me to save this world!
And when I finally die,
I'll be reincarnated into a tree.
I'll be turned into pages for the next poets to use.
And when they do—
I'll be free.
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 6:50 PM UTC
We talk politics in the shower.
You shampoo your beard,
I condition my armpit hair.
Good morning coffee breath.
I love you like a palindrome.
Tragic comedy, our physical love stretched
thin
over distance.
Endings always differ.
Moon circles scream it’s raining on me.
Serotonin’s been locked up for years, I put her somewhere safe.
Check you’re alive with a finger ***** comedy of errors sings an ode in my left ear.
Here
beard bristles
brush hair
light back catch
sensitivity sits
less lower lip
fold
selves
in
scene end
stage right
pick up towel
EXIT.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 1:09 PM UTC
Okay,
It goes like this you see.
10pm, on a late thursday evening. I was sweating like a ****** in church. I grabbed my armbands and turned on the shower. It was cold as ice to the touch, but begun to warm up eventually. Thank god my wife remembered to turn the geezer on or else I was going to slap a ***** create waves of flesh on that ugly *** face of hers.
Anyway.
After stripping down to my birthday suit, I popped on some shampoo and spreaded that **** in my hair. Creating a burning sensation, tingly, like ants crawling in my head.
Suddenly I was smacked like an unwanted child by the smell of burnt toast in the air,
with the shampoo still sitting in my hair.
I turned around and right before me, something was coming out of the plug hole, like something out of a b-rated horror movie.
Looking like my wife's homemade cooking, **** was alive, and then it lunged at me.
I tell you, if it was not for those Tom Cruise movies lecturing me in the art of total *** kicking, I would be a dead naked man with armbands in a tub, being eaten by the unholy guacamole.
You gotta believe me,
when I tell this story,
This was not all in my head,
You can't just write off what I have said.
I know it must sound insane,
But a mexican's lunch crawled out of the drain,
I beat it's *** like a drum,
like Lars Ulrich at a metallica concert ,
and sent the **** back down the hole it crawled out of.
The devil wanted to bring me down to the deep end,
It is a good thing I bought my arm bands.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC
At one
Life had begun,
I could walk,that was fun,
Always smothered with kisses,mummy's yummy bun.
At two,
I grew too,
Did everything I wanted to do,
Again and again,then undo,
Refused to go to the loo,
Loved to spill the shampoo,
Stubborn as a mule,
With tears, buckets of boo.
At three ,
I was free,
No pampers,mum in glee,
Went to loo to ***
Hated milk, loved tea,
Fell often, grazed my knees.
At four,
Could do small chores,
Wipe a spill on the floor,
For visitors open door,
My own clothes I wore,
A glass of water I could pour.
At five,
I was alive,
A queen bee in a hive,
I learned to thrive,
First time I learned to swim and dive.
At six ,
I was a bag of tricks,
Just for kicks,
Smart at solving conflicts,
Easily able to come out of a fix,
Clever and confident, teachers'
best pick.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
I have my favorite smells
Each filled with sentiment
Or the sensation of joy
I can smell them everyday
and go on without interruption
But the smell
that always catches my attention
Is your smell
You don't know it
But your scent is always in my perception
Your cologne
The shampoo you use
Whatever lotion you use
I can smell it
and suddenly the memories come washing over
I can smell you
and only think about you
with nothing else on my mind
until the smell goes away
in some cases it can be gone within seconds or minutes
But sometimes it lingers
and sometimes I wish it never leaves
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
If God exists and he is great, fair and just, why does my nose always start to itch when I'm in the shower and my hands are full of shampoo?
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 5:41 AM UTC
At that moment fingers rushed in an ooze of excitement,
A lake confronted in foam.
The smell of you cleansing everything it touches.
Could you image that,
Placing you in a bottle dispensing you little by little.
A thick lather filling the gasps of fingers.
How could you make a simple shampoo smell that much better.
How is that possible, I mean who on earth does that.
The slogan itself would be perfect
I mean Absolute genius
It would simply read
You
Possibly a picture of a deranged bunny on the front of the label.
A fluff for hair, One eye caught in mid blink.
Chipmunk like jaws.
The essence itself would be breathtaking.
I could see it now.
Placing you on the cosmetic isle in a bunny shaped bottle.
There is only one problem however,
How could we begin to bottle up something so precious
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
What I have is a pitch
angled at nothing
and I envy the limber crowd of bees,
and I envy the spider’s easy meal.
The low hum of a wash cycle
competes with, then dislodges my dirge,
gradually builds a golden,
natural looking wan expression.
Diffident? Go out and meander
content to accept the indifference of meaning.
This walk is not a protest.
This work was only ever play.
Suitable for all skin types
our explanations can’t help themselves,
run like British accents on trade
and explain away any need for help.
Non-streaking conceits
you know best how much you are worth.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
Garnier.
The shampoo that makes you put your hands in the air
and scream and shout because you like the smell of your hair.
Disaster strikes when you find you've emptied your share.
So next day, you hurry back to the dragon's lair,
only to find a sign that says, "Buy one, get one free, if you dare."
You wonder why it doesn’t say, “Ferocious beast. Beware.”
Suddenly, you hear something scampering – a hare.
The beast is approaching. You escape but end up taking the pair.
You emerge from the shops feeling like royalty – the heir
to the magnificent and brilliant throne of Garnier.
Something strange is happening. You can feel it, on skin so fair,
with the wind chilling you to the bones and frizzing your hair.
Your ****** features tell it all, a reaction like that is rather rare.
In fact, one man notices you and continues to stare.
Sensing eyes, you turn around, see the man and glare.
You believe that men have no manners, something you should declare.
Yet many oppose your sentiments. They have faith in the mayor,
albeit they complain about the bus fare.
Return to reality. Why is it, your body feels bare?
Glancing at the empty bottle in your hand; a picture of a mare
and some words. You read it out loud, “Take care.
Garnier”.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 4:43 AM UTC
YOU loved the smell of my hair,
so i changed my shampoo but I STLL MISS YOU.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 6:51 AM UTC
Her hair smelled of salt and fruity shampoo,
A strangely pleasant mix of the two.
Actually everything about her seemed pleasant,
Her silky black hair
And her freckles all over her newly sunburnt skin
That pink glow came from her skin just as it came from her lips
Her feet digging in the sand
As someone grasps her hand
But no one notices him
For she is a beauty beyond compare.
She loosens her hand to run it through her hair.
She begins to get up, the hesitates.
There is a look, undefined, I just couldn’t place.
I know what that face could be
Because now I see that same face on me.
It is hard to explain, hard to define
That face that appeared on both hers and mine.
But again as I sit, seeing this girl
She has gotten up and is beginning to leave.
She sees me looking and smiles at me.
It’s one of those empty, meaningless smiles one gives a stranger.
That’s what we were then, don’t you remember??
When your hair still smelled of salt and shampoo
And your smile still faded when I looked away from you.
Things got better.
That boy is gone.
It took you a while, but you moved on,
Moved on to life and moved on to love
And moved on to that smile you give out of love.
Your smile has changed from that first day.
It is no longer empty and strange in that way.
Now it means much more than words.
And now sitting with you, hand in hand,
You smile down at your newfound best friend.
m.c.c.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
when hot water runs,
and it relaxes your shoulders,
try not to get shampoo in
your already watery eyes.
because if those white bubbles
that are dripping from your hair,
get in your eyes,
it is positive that it will
sting and burn,
until it gets the attention needed,
but not even the coldest water
can get it back to its
previous clearness.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC