"She slides it through burnet tresses"
Jami A 

The viridian dye is thick
Sliding over her thin fingers
Sitting amorphously in a rough palm

She slides it through burnet tresses
Forever hesitating

Lovely black-brown strands
burn violet in the fluorescent lights

Virescent -perhaps sage?- eyes peer nervously
Hidden behind lop-sided spectacles
And unkempt bangs

Teeth tease at chapped lips
A light tremor shaking her shrinking form

Who will she be?
Who does she want to be?

Not who she is now
That's her only definite

She slathers the goop onto plaited hair
Tremors gone
Determination strengthening wasting flesh

A call to the optometrist
Numerous visits to the city thrift shops

Long sleeves cover amaranthine scars
Terracotta curls get tucked nervously behind
ears glittering with hoops and studs

A confident, optimistic smile hides
suicidal tendencies and poisonous insecurities

And she hopes
She hopes, so deeply

That change soaks through skin
Invading muscle
Traversing bone
Wrapping around the little broken thing
she called a soul

"I want to be someone that isn't me."

the saddest wish
of a tragic damsel
that has always been distressed

"Fingers wrestle to weave its tresses"
Mariam Paracha 

Intertwining and overlapping
Fingers wrestle to weave its tresses
Silky and smooth as it rests atop its lair
The light frolicking on the surface's glare

Bustling conversation and echoing laughs
Intertwining and overlapping
Diverse aroma's are transpiring and lingering
The sound and the silence are successfully mingling

So prim and proper they sit prepared
Dressed to impress in their clothes so bright
Intertwining and overlapping
A chaotic order concealed by the wrapping

So carefully selected and beautifully disguised
An assortment of emotions concoct within
As i enter the room it cues the clapping
Intertwining and overlapping

Gifts shine so bright at a party, many people look forward to the gift giving part when it comes to a party.
"my head, soft hair, light brown tresses"
Liz Devine 

I stand, where the rain can't reach me
where the pain doesn't push and pulsate
beneath the umbrella
made of wasted words and broken bones

She hangs down on me
and over me
she catches the dirt from the road
and the flies from the sky
I stay safe and dry
beneath her skin
made of brown, yellow, and red

She keeps me clean,
against her best intentions
but it is I who control
when she's up and when she's down
the pale, salty skin of my hands
pushes her down, holds her up and over
my head, soft hair, light brown tresses

She, is the bright life in the sky
and the dark mother of the moon
but I will never know
and they will never see
because she lives in my possesion
her only use is for me.

"in your tresses."
Prabhu Iyer 

Dark bower by the deepest night,
Not again, not again;
Songs of leaves that
whisper to the half-moon
hymn you: Señora,
Seeking you, clouds soar the skies;
You conceal all the stars
in your tresses.
Yet you look back stopping
by the horizon and I
do not see the pain lining your eyes
by dawn: whom
do the marigolds mourn, by
the valley of the drying stream
in late summer?
Who silent walks down the rainbow
whose tracks leave
pink mists on grass-tops?
Whom does the myna call to
in agony by the wet winds
of the early hour, and silent tears
of the early rose?
Señora, perdóname,
not again, not again,
this empty night,
chasm down the valley of days.

"e windblown comfort of forestal goddess tresses,"
vircapio gale 

moonrock, lovelight;
dim, silent, mindbreath-
interleaving sunspace;
dark, narrow, corridor of doubt--
   far below this moment lurks
         an otherwisely ancient growing sense:
              of worldliness i haven't asked again
                  (yet you are this world-to-be);
              the smile-harvest nearing,
         your touch reasserts its ever-meaning
   of dancing in the starlight i ask
my yearning future self,
of playful rolls of joy
spinning off our lichen finger tracings~
of healthiness and utter-smooth response
    to sharpness i think with full bodied thought--
        (it throbs deep into the wellspring of our self-teaching);
    of healing i ask with songs beneath the feet,
toes vibrate dream-colored peace
       like the windblown comfort of forestal goddess tresses,
             i fall upward into you even as we descend through shadowovercastings,
               even while the earth-tremble breaks our calm,
                        even though the bees fade,
                                another nectar drips from all around
                                            your inner-golden, flowered canopy of lives
                                                            (i effulge this world-to-be you are!)

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