"curly" poems
The darker the berry the sweeter the seeds
plant them because you sow what you reap.
My skin is magical you see...for I am a special kind of breed.
When I'm in the sun my melanin boils, plus heat is good for my ***** coils.
A shade darker I've just became...
From honey brown to a cocoa shade.
Time to untwist my bantu knots and free my natural fro.
The curly crown of victory as my melanin glows. I strut through the grasslands in tune with my inner goddess. My legs are thick and long, so now its time to flaunt this.
shaking my hair from left to right & pump my fist in the air.
Wish I was alive in the civil rights, but then I wouldn't be hear.
People they envy my complexion, they wish they had my perfection. But honestly you can't hate on something God gave.
Melanin queen, you reign in the lands.
Zion queen, lets do a foreign dance.
Melanin runs within my veins and pores.
Melanin I love to be, I'm wading
in the shores.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
I have the unfortunate belief that
my self-worth lies in the quality of my hair.
It may sound ridiculous, but it's true.
Go ahead, touch my hair.
I feed off of your fascination
-though I remain engaged only as long as you do-
my tolerance for my hair is equivalent to its length.
I once had someone tell me
"I like your hair better straight"
And that was when fifth grade ruined me.
I thought by changing they would accept me.
And Daniel would like me like he liked Taylor
and all of my likes would be returned and
Eddie would choose me because we were best friends
and I had the fortune of being beautiful
but I wasn't allowed to be beautiful to him because
I have this hair.
People wonder why I spend hours with an iron.
But when you're so different that
boys won't like you because your hair is curly
and you teeth are crooked you have no choice but to
change the things that are in your power.
I could never make myself fully white
But I sure as hell can straighten my hair
and let Mamaw buy me braces.
They can call you giraffe neck still,
but at least your hair is straight like everyone else.
Yes, you like to touch it and it's "neat" and it's "soft"
But why on earth should that matter to me?
People respect my hair because it is mine.
But he will not love it unless it is like hers-
wind-caught silk that hangs to her waist.
I weep for my hair.
I weep for my hair.
You do not understand how different it is.
You do not understand how hard it is
to stick out like a sore thumb because your
genetics were oppressed for 500 years.
I am ugly
Because of my hair.
No number of people telling me of its beauty will matter
because I cannot see it.
He cannot see it either.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
You
the one with messy brown hair
brown eyes
with you birthmark over the left side of your face.
You who left me crying.
You who made me believe in love for the first time.
You who stole my first kiss
first time
first.
You
with your straight blonde hair
blue eyes
and that stupid smirk
You who left me broken
You who showed me a new way of living
You who left me being second choice
second best
second.
You
with your dark blonde hair
hazel eyes
you with your beautiful hands
You who left me angry
You who showed me a different way of love
You who went with me on my third concert
third love
third.
You
with your curly brown hair
hazel eyes
with your cute braces you never liked
You who left me questioning
You who showed how hard love can be
You who decided I wasn´t worth it
You never happend
We never did.
I
with wavy dark brown hair
hazel eyes
with freckles on my face
I who loved everyone of you
but still couldnt forget you,
number two
I who loved everyone of you
but you left me wanting more,
number four
I who loved everyone of you
was being loved.
but not anymore.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
My land is bare of chattering folk;
The clouds are low along the ridges,
And sweet's the air with curly smoke
From all my burning bridges.
22.8k
Big **** The Head ********
was the head of all the ********* in the ******** Shed.
What made Big **** so skilled and keen
at dickheadedness was to be seen.
Big **** had a certain ******* flair,
for tugging at everyone's short and curly hair.
He never had an important specialty,
except for being a type-A personality.
His skills were near to nothing great.
He kinda looked like a backward ape,
with a necktie 20 years gone out of style,
and his middle-management bullshitty wiles;
"I'm better than any ******** here!"
He'd proclaim everyday with a prickish sneer.
So they put him on his own cocky shelf,
where he could reign all by himself,
and every ******** ***** or asshole-wanna-be,
would come to the ******** Shed just to see,
what they could achieve if they'd observe instead,
the ways and means of Big **** The Head ********
___________
Dedicated to every single uptight, middle-management, pain in the ****
you have ever had to work with or for.
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 1:07 PM UTC
*she dragged me out of the house
knowing i was feeling down
not allowing me to wallow
in my self pity,
she dressed me,
painted my face
fashioned my hair,
that’s my girl friend
at Juliana’s,
small family owned Italian restaurant,
a gem of a find, she said,
Lorenzo, greeted her with familiarity
(she leaves a memorable impression)
she introduced me as her bestie
with a twinkle in her eye
young (as all under 30 people are to me)
handsome, dark thick curly haired,
with dancing eyes,
a serving towel over his left arm
nodded with a genuine smile
i smiled back despite my mood
wine was swirled, smelled,
sampled and selected
a captivating performance,
executed expertly
she watched me
watching him
describe the specials
with a melodic Italian accent
transforming my mood
garlic knots wafting with his stride,
placed on the table
with a small bowl of marinara sauce
still hovering
in his long lean fingers
it slipped,
splattering red stain
on the pristine white cloth
without skipping a beat
his eyes poured into mine
words emerged
“forgive me, your beauty made me nervous”*
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC
Does my blackness offend you?
Is my hair too curly for you?
Are my hips too wide for you?
My dark brown skin glows with all the melanin I have been gifted with.
My lucious thick hair is filled with curls that bounce with every stride I take forward, away from oppression.
My hips sway perfectly with the drums beating in the air of the Mother land.
Does my athletism bother you?
Is my intelligence too much for you?
Are my people beneath you?
My athletic feats have been studied by generations of white Americans who have hoped to find an extra ligament in my leg.
My intelligence has been the reason for many inventions all over the world.
My people will rise above , always have , always will.
My people will be given justice where it's due.
My people will be heard , just like the drums from the Mother land.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
Holding hands to cross the street
Feel the sand under my feet
The way you twirl me, like a cotton candy man
I feel so girly as you wind each curly strand
When I'm growing up too fast
And the world demands a lady
You remind me of my past,
Though it often might evade me
Summer days and autumn leaves
Wading through the endless trees
The way you hold me when I just can't sleep at night
I lay there coldly as you slowly soothe my mind
After all is said and done,
So thankful you're the one
To bring back the daughter in me
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
Sitting on a ****
Having a rest
Dreaming of wearing
A beautiful dress
Hair cascading
Red curly locks
Waste of time, who cares
There are no clocks
Awaiting a happening
With nothing in sight
Mischief merriment
Anything, even a fright
Breena, bored to death
'Tis true
Wanting only,
For something to do.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!
Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.
Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.
This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 9:11 AM UTC
Biodiversity, an abstract term used in natural science,
Meaning diversity of life in a diversity of places.
Tonight I really feel all the compliance,
With this term occuring in my life in so many cases.
I have both positive and negative associations,
If I relate biodiversity to my own life.
It kind of explains all the complications,
On the road to when and where I thrive.
When I look at myself in the mirror,
I see the diversity in my face.
Both soft like a mother and severe like an emperor,
And my hair looks like it's from another race.
It is curly and it is dark,
While my skin is quite pale.
Blue eyes which sometimes brightly spark,
But other times greyish and frail.
Some moments I feel hyper,
like I'm going to explode.
I talk, walk, jump and stir,
and my brain says 'overload'.
Other moments however I feel calm and peace,
I lay down just quietly watch the sun.
Concentrated on every breath I release,
A warm ambiance like that of a mum.
Some mornings I feel like I'm the sexiest girl on the planet,
I take a red dress and let it slip over my hips.
Walk on 15 cm heels like my feet are made of granite,
And merely hope to use my red coated lips.
Other times even my jogging pants don't seem to fit,
I feel like the uggliest girl in town and only see disgust.
I watch useless YouTube videos infinite,
Because everything else feels like a must.
I can go on with this poem for a long time,
But it makes no sense.
It is just that with this rhyme,
I put on paper the doubts, thoughts and experience.
The biodiversity in me,
I like it and I do not.
But what I more and more see,
Is a swarm of different butterflies rather than an intwined knot.
Life is so **** special,
Intense and deeply exciting.
I think it is crucial,
Not to do too much hiding.
Enjoy the biodiversity in yourself,
Like a beautiful forest on a hill.
So many different species,
Crowded, changing and intertwined, but together, still.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
Her brown eyes so clear
It looked like a little teddybear
So sweet and harmless
It would light up the darkness
Look in her unique eyes
And you'll see she's very wise
Her straight or curly hair
Has got me breathing for air
Smart and cute
The type that boys will pursuit
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Hair upon my head.
People say it’s beautiful.
To me, it’s merely dead.
Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Whenever I take a nap,
I look like lightening came down from heaven
And gave me a little zap!
Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Whether wind, rain, or snow.
Humidity is my enemy
I have a **** afro.
Twirly, whirly, curly Q
People stop and stare.
They ask me if it’s natural
As if they really care.
Twirly, whirly, curly Q
I think it’s rather boring.
You pay buckets to look like me
It’s so freaking annoying.
Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Girls tell me that they’re jealous.
But if they really knew the struggle,
They’d agree it’s rather hellish.
Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Straight hair would be a dream.
I’d brush and brush and brush my hair
And never even scream.
Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Alas, it’s here to stay.
But I guess that’s what makes me different,
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 6:49 PM UTC
My sweetheart you are so stunning and seductive
With a lovely attitude, to come and get me please
Your progressive style makes you more reflective
Embrace me come in my warm arms don not tease
Sky is under your feet and you have taken me over
Wind is playfully caressing your cheeks, curly hair
Your eye brows are archer this is what your armor
What a tasteful youth what a wonderful spicy flair
My love,life is at stake my love is now on the altar
Your graces can save me from the clutches of world
My life is like a ship without any rudder and harbor
In front of universal love your beauty is just curled
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.
She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.
Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.
A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.
Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.
Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”
The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
With the peak of spring in the month of May
In the early hours of a pleasantly sunlit day
Two kids sat cuddled on a swing
Feeling as though they were taking on wing
Swinging in the air, they began to sing
Their sweet lay breaking the silence with its ring
They kicked their legs in rising delight
And felt like thistledowns ever so light
Up and down on the swing was fun
They closed their eyes on being face to face with the sun
Felt the swish and sway of the buoyant air
And knew the light tug of breeze on their curly hair
As the air got caught in the frills of their frock
Their eyes gleamed bright in delightful spark
Imagining themselves to be astronauts in space,
An ebullient excitement lit up their face
From a raised angle, they saw the Earth in green folds lie
Watched the surrounding hills standing awfully high
Saw a small stream flowing as a slow moving train
With trees lined up on its banks in unbroken chain
Longingly I watched these children free of all worry and pain
Also their aerial feats, not tainted by any melancholy stain
How I miss these childhood days of innocent fun
As my hours, towards the sunset, quickly run
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
Let me trade in my smile for fangs
And my feminine fingers for paws.
Let me trade in my manicured nails for claws
And my curly locks for silver fur.
Let me trade my heart shaped mouth for a long snout
And the freckles on my nose for whiskers.
Let me trade my curves for a round, bushy tail
And my clumsiness for strength and agility.
Let me trade my tears for whimpers and barks
And my voice for howls in the night.
Let me trade my dinner reservations for hunting down a moose
And my poor senses for keen ears and a nose.
Let me trade my soul for a different one
And become a friend to the moon.
Let me live my life as a wolf
And all that it encompasses.
Let me symbolize the dawn and the dusk
And let me symbolize the converging of light and darkness.
Because that is wolf,
And that is what I see, when I look in the mirror.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
If I'm a plumber then she's my princess peach,
if she's Zelda, then I'm her Link.
If my life was Contra, then she's my Konami Code.
Can't you tell ny Lady is the subject of this ode?
If she's Curly Brace then I'm her counterpart Quote,
Seriously, I'm in love with her if you didn't catch it I left a few notes,
If I'm the Belmonts, then she's the vampire killer,
if I'm Michael, she's my thriller.
If I'm Pac-Man, then she's my Miss
If I'm Alucard, then she's my transformation into mist
If I'm Kirby then she's waddle Dee,
quite frankly this is getting sappy so I'll get to the point.
I love this girl more than a stoner loves a joint.
(bonus points if you can name all the games referenced, and the Konami Code)
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
I may be short
but he likes short girls
I have dirt coloured eyes
but he likes that too
my hair is a curly mess
he thinks it's pretty
I'm not his Julia
but bae likes me anyway
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
I can smell your thoughts.
You are thinking about Morgan Freeman now,
I can feel it.
I can smell your curly hair
And your love of ******
And your farts.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
Hours
Spent
Straightening her
Tangled blonde hair
Thousands
Spent
Taming her
Wild
Golden locks
Ages
Spent
In front of a
Dishonest
Mirror
That lied
And lied again
About her
Beauty
Within
Don’t you know
Those curls are a treasure
My curly friend?
When I play with them at
Night
Again
And
Again
Wrapped round my fingers
Feeling your original curly sin
Don’t you know
Those curls are a pleasure
My curly friend?
As they tickle my
Soul
In their
Serpentine
Intent
I want to mess your
Proper blonde
Into a wild naked disarray
Curls and more
Curls
A field of windswept
Growth
I want to bury my nostrils
Into the heady bare
Perfume
Of your silent
Curly
Oath
And
I
Won’t
Let
You
No,
I
Won’t
Let
You
Defile those curls
Again
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:12 AM UTC
i. the curly, green-haired
leo with the cry-baby tattoo
on her left calf; fish net stockings and
loud guitar playing and
menthol cigarettes. driving through
the park at 9 pm, ***** shots,
the white house with the a-frame roof,
hugs that made your heart feel as warm
as she did
crying as i left my room again to be
intertwined with a girl who did not love me, but i wanted to;
months pass, lonely car rides with
one-sided conversations and
seven years gone,
quiet disconnection
that made you feel as cold
as i did
ii. brown eyes, brown skin,
round glasses and chicago streetlights.
holding each other close on the subway
lakehouse parties in the beginning of spring and
pisces season and tarot readings and
soft kisses on the train.
holding hands at the aquarium,
sweet poetry and calm and
a sense of oneness that made you feel
important
hurt for the third time
a panic, a loss
i held their heart in my hands and
let it fall
harsh
unimportant
i still carry the guilt on my fingertips
iii. short hair. freckled cheeks, i
fell in love with the way the skin
crinkled around her eyes when she smiled.
an apartment, a home built
around our lips touching
wrapped in blankets on the couch,
dense smoke and her hand on my leg while she
drove. chinese food and
waking up against her chest and
laughing so hard
my ribs hurt
crashing. her anger withering away my
heartstrings; pain and
crying alone in the bathtub
moving away
drunk tears on the interstate
punching my thighs
in place of the way her
words made
me hurt
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
With a body wrapped in a crimson dress, she bears a violent temper.
Shining daylight, raging bewitching, captivating cunning.
You arrive with starry eyes and cheeks flushed like a ******
In her curly hair, autumn curtains hang—roaming rays hot.
She glows in the night like a pictorial wall with hieroglyphics concealing madness.
You step elegantly, but you're a dangerously stealthy predator.
Grassy hills in floating flames burn beneath a voluminous haze.
Her look describes fabulous waterfalls, endlessly flowing and shining in the coming dawn. You associate with robbers and kings, but they do not understand, and no one will save you.
Lovely eyes sprinkle enchanting rays, her lips intertwined like a rose petal.
Her heart enticingly calls with her fruit to be drunk.
You hide in the nightlife, dress up, and do your love magic.
Neck fashioned in autumnal garments, wearing scarlet ruby earrings.
Her pink skin smells of perfume, inviting like a grape on a vine.
You invite visitors with your charm to carelessness, forever forced.
Her lips are flowing bewitching rivers—intersecting strokes of crimson. They bring a dream to taste her deep soils and her artfully carved forms.
You are determined to captivate without marrying— you stay lost in rebellion.
Sep 25, 2023
Sep 25, 2023 at 6:19 AM UTC
I could have gone to the cemetery,
or back to my high school lab,
find him lecturing from a podium,
bony finger raised,
demagogue of the dead.
I could break him down piece by piece,
cram him in a duffle,
a femur jutting the zipper.
Ignore the groan-
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Instead I found myself
in the carnival lot,
The dog was long dead,
the sign kept guard.
Rusty rides slouched like tumbleweeds.
Cotton candy in memory-
blue tack crunching my teeth.
Lewd.
Skeletons fixed on poles,
spiked up through pelvis and spine.
Use ****
Grip shoulders. twist. lift.
When one slid free,
he collapsed into my arms
all bone-light, lovely,
mine at last.
I just brought him home.
Sat at the kitchen table.
Named him Curly.
Zoom howled: WAG’s gone weird!
What’s his name? What’s his name?
His name is Curly,
I said, but I knew
his name was You.
We drink wine by the pool.
He never sips.
Sometimes I pour a second glass for the glint.
Sometimes he tells me Danny Elfman
wants to play his ribs like a xylophone.
Sometimes he sighs,
he hates Oingo Boingo.
I laugh. Obliging.
So do I.
When the wind kicks up
he smells of sugar and rust.
Sometimes he rattles the glassware.
Sometimes he won’t sit still.
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 12:11 PM UTC
You're my favorite
Libra, and always
will be.
Anytime I hear that
song about peaceful,
easy feelings I will
think of you.
Anytime I feel like
no one else knows
what in the world
is going on and
think about how
you're the only
daisy on earth
who sees everything
for exactly what it is
I will miss you.
But most importantly
anytime my blood is
pumping and your
blood is pumping
I will love
your curly head
with all the blonde
in mine.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 10:56 AM UTC