"frizzy" poems
When you tried to give me a compliment I always turn the cheek
Batting it away like it doesn't belong to me
That my hair is too frizzy for you to like it
My eyes too blue for your brown
My legs are elegant but they are marked with my disappointment
The purple and the blue will never go away
Yes, the bruises will slowly heal but by the time one problem is resolved another sapling and will slowly take root and show it's colors
You say my heart is made to heal
But I can't find it
It's buried so deep I can't hear it keeping time to my life song
It's crushed under all my self downs and worries
In that hollow it grows
Like a new bud
And one day it will turn into a flower
My response to your comment is lost on my tongue
It is somewhere tucked inside my conscience
Playing hide and seek with the directions on how to talk to boys and how to give an oral report without turning red
And I'm the seeker
You tell me I'm beautiful
But I can't hear you
The voices taunting me inside my head are too loud for your soft voice
Arguing about which way right
When I find my answer it seems as if the time has already left
You are already heading off in the other direction
Leaving me stumbling over my daydreams and expectations
Trying to get a grasp on what's ethical
I always forget to say thank you
It's sort of a bad habit
I'm always too worried about what will happen if I say something wrong
If I'll turn you away
I want you to know that I want you to stay
Stay close and hug me when I need it
So I can help you through your hardships
And carry each other's hopes and dreams upon our shoulders
You will be the soldier of my heart
Guarding the gates for all of the knights in shining armor that aren't noble enough to be my Prince Charming
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
But it won’t reveal my inner mystery
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
My Latina nature sometimes precedes my personality
People try to tell me who I am and they whisper, “I bet she…”
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
He says, “I know about you Latin girls…” but the only one who can enlighten me about me, is me.
To them I’m nothing more than another Jenny from the Block, but I’m not here to entertain you, let me educate you
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
My curls exude confidence, beauty, and *** appeal; they keep secrets, create dreams, and remind me how bright I expect my future to be
My hair does define me. But not as you define it, as I do. I am everything I believe my hair means
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
Latinas are fierce, they are fire, and they are dangerous. Maybe we’re that way because you won’t let us be.
Can I just be me? Why do I have to be the person you want me to be?
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
I’m tired of society’s shackles, so I ignore what society expects me to be
I love my curls, I love them when they’re frizzy, unkempt, and unruly. My curls are me.
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
~Karina
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Overlook the fragile hourglass figure
Beyond corsets and pseudo-beauty rules,
Endorse thy curves and stretch marks strewn,
The dusky skin and frizzy curls,
Braille like pimples on the face
Discoloration, bumps and pores;
This Body shaming, I shall pass.
Writhing in pain and humiliation,
Drenching in rage and insecurity
While I lie,
Society curses me
Defining and redefining my chastity;
'T was the crop top, the alcohol and the sly behavior.
You set the monster free and blame the ****
This Victim shaming, I shall pass.
Beige and ebony;
They call me names blatantly
Betwixt skin color and bleached smiles.
Laugh and scoff all you want.
Harass the Black, detain them,
Prejudiced minds rule your dystopian world.
This Black shaming, I shall pass.
Without creating a labyrinth of stigma,
And seeking refugee in collective blame,
Let's construct our utopian world
Acknowledging all freaks and flaws
This Shaming, we shall pass.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
My elbow pops
Like the way the word
Snap dragon sounds
My freckles aren't constellations
They're reminders that I am not
Dark and ancient
Like my ******* father
My hair
FRIZZY
Like a pumpkin on fire
Voice
So sweet it makes me sick
And now all my teeth have fallen out
My throat swollen
A cave with an avalanche stuck inside
Dead bats
And stalactites like toothpicks
I don't need
Nails
Like tree bark
Hollow in all the right places
Scars
Like a record
Of the way I hurt myself
Put it on Repeat
Till it scratches
Cheeks like high school
Like humiliation
With four eyes perching
Not lucky clovers
And eyes glued on
With one glued on wrong
And knees that I'm constantly falling down on
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
Big ears
Small nose
Frizzy hair
Chubby thighs
Flaws,
Scars on legs
Birthmarks on arms
Small *****
Flaws,
Flaws are nothing to be ashamed of
They are our hidden roadmaps to places only we really know
Embrace every flaw that covers your body
They make you, you.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
my face-wash is a whitening cream
but what if i don't want to be white?
what if i just want my skin to be clean
since when did white and clean begin to come in the same package?
are white people the poster-children of cleanliness
because they've washed their hands
with the blood of my ancestors?
*am i *****
because i have not?*
it bothers me when my grandmother tells me
that i am lucky
because i was born the fairer one of the two sisters
she says she fears for what i would have looked like
had my colored mother not fallen in love with a white man
mixing her ***** genes with his pure ones
to create a mix-bred child, who, in any case
was better than being born brown.
**it would have been a sin
for me to have colored skin**
i am still dealing with the remnants of my colonial past
because i am still afraid of telling my mother
that i am in love with a colored man
she will accept him because he is loving and kind
but in the back of her mind
there will be a little voice that whispers
wouldn't it have been better if he was white instead?
and i've heard a lot of people tell me
*"thank God your hair is the right kind of curly
not the frizzy, afro-like hair
wild and free
thank God your hair is tame
thank God your hair falls in neat little curls
(you got your dad’s genes!)
thank God
we can hold it
and mold it
into what we like
thank God your hair is the right
kind of curly."*
you see my mom escaped by marrying a man with white skin
but with me the cycle begins again
because he's two shades darker
and my children will be too
the white genes of their grandfather
lost
among the dark genes of their father-
with chocolate eyes and hazel skin
i am still struggling to see at my father
as one of "us" and not one of "them"
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 2:50 AM UTC
of course i ********** every night,
otherwise i'd be wondering
about the next Laika in space
with some next soviet conspiracy
Sputnik hovering while i chance
abbreviate a change on hairstyling
thinking: jeez, this is a little bit too
afro frizzy for a brainstorm,
maybe i better opt for Jamaican dreads?
economics of shampoo usage,
suddenly a large bank account.
i do get the idea behind treating nouns
like albinos... bleach the *******
hang them to dry in Polaroids...
while commercial flights fly at a certain
height, and the rich buggers fly high enough
to jet-stream in the cirrus uncinus bracket...
and they lie to children,
they're talking about strange satellites...
i can't see satellites, not without Galileo's
excommunication apparatus,
satellites, as far as i am concerned
orbit the earth in a non-visible spectrum
of the vacuum... hence their orbiting outside
of the visible spectrum atmosphere of
the earth, i would not be able to see
a satellite for the love of Michaelangelo.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
As soon as I get out of bed
My hair makes a mess of my head
I brush it flat and sleek
And, for an hour, its neat
But then it gets frizzy instead
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
Southern summer nights
too hot
swimming in a sea of humid
drowning in a pool of sweat
and sweet tea.
Sweet tea like syrup
dark hazel
filled with ice
cubed and perfect
from an imperfect freezer tray.
Frizzy hair
glistening skin
from a dull sun
tempered by an Atlantic breeze.
The moon shines full
lighting the scent of the summer night.
Honey suckle, hydrangeas, cotton textured
dandelions like parachutes against the
black night sky
is a southern summer night.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC
The pimple faced gernment representative told me
I had to hold my pollinated dreams until
next season.
And in my school house dream
matthew told me his dream
nothing less than Sustainable Planet
And as I started to argue, I realized,
my mouth was full of seasoned nuts
full of warehoused food,
because I could not attend
lunch, at this newly packed cafeteria;
I was on a mission to... I forget now
but in my dream it was **** important!
Now that I'm awake, trying to write a poem
that captures the meaning
all I can tell you, as you read my heart
is that no one can tell you when to start
caring about your dreams.
Get on your moral high ground and shout out to the world
"I'm MAD as HELL and I'm NOT gonna TAKE it ANYMORE!"
And unless you get knocked off your high horse
and unless you find your voice dry, horse,
don't stop yelling until others join you--
because they will join you. We all want freedom
We all want the dream, but will we fight for it
to make it happen? Would you fight for love,
For life?? Would you fight for survival?
This is it, its this or oblivion, its sustain our childish
fever of consumption,
level out our infantile pride or
rest quietly into forever.
They say sustainability is what were after
but what we really mean is sanity;
they say rational policy is what were after
but really what we mean is enlightenment.
I'm asking you to change the wheel of your mind
and your asking me to hold my order until the window!
Can I have fries with that?
Make it a KING sized!
**** your frizzy fries, and your listless orders,
I want none of them, give me liberty or give me DEATH!
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
/ as i am pretty sure all americana
feels about "us":
oh 'ook, 'ere comes old man
europe,
no hemmingway,
and no so: as the casual english
expression solidifies exchanges:
just across the atlantic:
the, pond...
haven't the foggiest...
i'm "new" here,
and even i find these english prims
& pomps and idiosyncracies
a bit debilitating...
today i walked from my home
with a knife in my pocket...
why... why?!
apparently it's worse
than new york,
a belt as a qusimodo boxing
glove won't cut it,
given that that:
requires a formal introduction,
prior to a fight...
guns guns guns...
over 'ere we 'ave knives knives knives...
and politicians can't exactly
ban them... no, not really...
ban knives, soon you'll be banning
forks, then spoons...
and then...
the whole ******* kitchen...
we'll all be eating out,
in public, cheap cheap cheap,
cheap restaurants
like the slovakians eat in...
can you even imagine that while
in st. petersburg i didn't see,
not one mcdonalds...
same so in moscow:
not a single mcdonalds...
it was like a: relief...
a bit like only seeing africanos
only, but not elsewhere other than warsaw;
erm: afro-saxons?
sure! we have them in england,
plenty of afro-saxons...
so now afro(x)
is not pop-up frizzy hair,
bundled into a french bun...
type of... "thing"?
**** yeah!
hit the spot!
oh old man europe...
tired and yet, and yet tired
of his riches,
how craving the old trenches
of Ypres...
the belgian mud, the rain,
the rats and crows...
europe: lament over libya...
or even pseudo-neo-rome
lamenting over carthage being destroyed...
in reverse -
abbrv. into - orior carthago!
was it cato the elder
who persisted counter to this?
as heidegger would have put it:
that's not even question-worthy.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
The barber asked "what would you like?
Quiff?
bun?
Mohawk?
slicked back?
side parting?
centre parting?
greased?
permed?
straightened?
skin head?
bald head?
spiky?
A comb over?
pony tail?
pig tails?
curly?
frizzy?
dyed?
mop top?
French crop?
blue rinse?
purple rinse?
step?
undercut?
shaggy?
dreadlocks?"
"No thanks" I replied
"I'll have a short back and sides and make it messy on top please"
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
my teacher
called my name in class
and i almost couldn't answer
i still see your eyes
in the books i haven't been reading
your voice echoes in my brain
when i look at the trees
i hear your smile
it's a million bells jingling
in the background
you are the answer
to all of my astrological questions
you put the ******* stars in the sky
i wish for you every night
and maybe you're gone for good
but i will always love you
i don't care if the stars fall
they're reminders that you existed once
i fell for your frizzy hair and how
it sticks straight up in the mornings
i fell for your rose petal lips
they cause sparks
when they touch me
you are the reason i am alive
without you i would feel nothing,
see nothing,
be nothing
you are the fire in my lungs
and **** it burns but
i've never loved pain so much
you gave me a home
i ran away
but the tears will lead you to me again
if it's right, oh baby,
you fill my veins with poison
and this sickness is the only disease i can love
you are the white light at the end of the tunnel
you are the rain in August
you are the leaves falling from the trees
and you are the only war i'll ever take part of
i fell in love with you
from your fingertips to your toes
and **** baby girl,
you make hell feel like home
and it's never been so bright down here
i like the bumps on your arms
and i love the smell of your perfume
you make me laugh during a funeral
at the way you whisper ***** jokes
to lighten my day
you lighten my day every day
your smile alone is the
reason i came home at all
i can't get enough
you have me
forever
babydoll
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC
I have my biggest enemy,
living in the mirror,
her eyes looks at me with disgust,
whispering poison into my bones.
She starved me with her demands,
shaped me with her lies,
painted over my scars
as if hiding me could please her.
She made me wear pointy heels.
Even when my back cried.
Just to fit the beauty standards,
She even turned my beautiful curls to frizzy straight.
No matter how I bent,
how I changed, how I tried,
she never smiled.
She always made me insecure.
We got into a huge fight
And I ended up hating her...
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 11:00 AM UTC
Southern summer nights
too hot
swimming in a sea of humid
drowning in a pool of sweat
and sweet tea.
Sweet tea like syrup
dark hazel
filled with ice
cubed and perfect
from an imperfect freezer tray.
Frizzy hair
glistening skin
from a dull sun
tempered by an Atlantic breeze.
The moon shines full
lighting the scent of the summer night.
Honey suckle, hydrangeas, cotton textured
dandelions like parachutes against the
black night sky
is a southern summer night.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
I don't love my body.
I don't love the curls on my head,
the way they become frizzy at the drop of a hat.
The way they get in the way when I do my dishes.
The way that they have a mind of their own in the morning.
You call me 'curly sue'.
You pull on my brown ringlets and smile when they bounce back into place.
You like the way my curls smell when I get out of the shower.
I don't love my body.
My *******
The way the hang from my chest like sandbags.
The way they restrict me from buying the clothes I like.
You named them.
Alessa and Alexis.
The way a little girl names the dolls that she loves so much.
Desire flashes in your eyes when I take off my shirt.
I don't love my body.
The first time you saw me naked
I wrapped my arms around my tummy
so that you couldn't see my belly.
You grabbed my arms and put them by my side,
and smirked
and said "beautiful".
I never hid myself from you again.
I don't love my body.
I hate the way my sides roll when I move.
You came home from practice,
bruised and bloodied.
You told me that your friend
tackled you to the ground
and you saw your life flash before your eyes;
you said
that my **** body
was the last thing you saw
before you momentarily blacked out.
I don't love my body.
I hate it.
I look in the mirror and see the most pathetic pile of
flesh, fat, muscle, bone and hair
that ever lived on this earth.
I waited so long to share it with another,
because I thought that this body,
this vessel,
was not worthy of appreciation.
You look at me the way a starving child looks at a five course meal.
You touch me like a homeless man sleeping on Egyptian cotton sheets
for the first time.
I don't love my body.
But the way you love my body,
the way you love my lumps and bumps and scars and flesh,
gives me hope that some day soon
I could grow to love it as well.
You make me feel things that I never thought I deserved to feel.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Inspiration for true love, you always remain,
With your ineffable look and idyllic thoughts,
Your dulcet expressions are very iridescent,
When two lovers are kissing in garden.
Joyful love making in the dark deep forest,
You will never jilt our love, my heart sings,
My feelings jostle to get into your heart,
When rain drops are dancing with bubbles.
***** style you have with your frizzy hair,
Ebullient and effervescent flavor of your spirit,
Entice my lips to kiss you all over your body,
By the end of today, when the sun is setting.
Lullaby your heart croons sonorously for me,
You are light, love and life a lover always seeks,
My heart is fond of your rosy and lustful lips,
When rainbow is spreading its colorful emotions,
Mesmerize me by your marvelous appearance,
Your great reverence for love enrapture me,
And naughty actions of your lips stare at me,
When hailstorms are falling on the poor lovers.
Nurturing the love seeds, you sowed yesterday,
You shower your warmness on those seeds,
Are eager to dance with their kind partner,
When love season is reaching its adolescence.
One and only partner, this is you only darling,
Whom I so deeply and outrageously love,
And my baby heart always beats for you,
When snowy mountains stretch in **********
Passionate and pretty playmate you are,
The Most romantic words I can say to you,
My pride, joy and precious partner for ever,
And peep from the swarm of smitten blue sky.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC
A frizzy blue black shadow, there you hold,
curtaining off the door to the pleasure garden,
in my frenzied day dreams, it seems like everglades
where your chiseled alabaster legs smugly join in.
It would take many shapes in my hazy dreams
when my ***** imagination, for you is in an overdrive,
at times it's a soft winged butterfly flitting around your *****
intermittently sitting on your thighs, inching slowly upwards,
how it takes my breath away! in each of it's tickling move.
Excited I ogle, and just then it assumes the look of a face,
with such inviting succulent lips, I fully lose my patience
at first the kiss is soft, a fervency takes over,then, I slip in to a trance
erotically charged and ecstatic, I hear you moan,when I explode!
കാമ നിഴല്നാടകം
------------------------------------
കുനുകുനെ കരിനീലയാമൊരു
നിഴല് അവിടെ നിനക്കുണ്ട്
സുഖകവാടത്തിനു മൂടുപടമൊന്നിട്ടപോലെ
എന് ഭ്രമ ഭരിതമാം പകല്സ്വപ്നങ്ങളി
ലതു നീര് നിലമായിമാറുന്നു.
നിന് വെണ്ണക്കല് കടഞ്ഞ
കാലുകള് ചേരുന്നൊരിടം.
എന് ഭാവന യുടെ കാമ സ്വപ്നങ്ങള്
നിന്നെത്തേടിപ്പായവേ
എന് അവ്യക്തസ്വപ്നങ്ങളില്
അതു, രൂപാന്തരങ്ങള്തേടുന്നു.
ചിലനേരംനിന്അരക്കെട്ട്ചുറ്റി
യൊരുചിത്രശലഭംപറക്കുന്നു
ഇടയിടയില് നിന് തുട പറ്റിയിരുന്നു
മേലോട്ട്മെല്ലെനീങ്ങുന്നു.
അത് മെല്ലെ ഇക്കിളിയിട്ട്മേല്പ്പോട്ടു
നീങ്ങാന് തുടങ്ങവേ
എന് ശ്വാസം നിന്നുപോവുന്നു!
ഉന്മാദിയായിഞാനവിടെ നോക്കുന്നു,
അവിടെയൊരുമുഖമല്ലേകാണ്മൂ
മദ ഭരിതമാ ചുണ്ടുകള് കാണുമ്പൊള്
ഞാന് എന്നെത്തന്നെ മറന്നു
മൃദു ചുംബനം, ലഹരി പകരുന്ന മുത്തം
പിന്നെ,എല്ലാം മറന്നമയക്കം!
രതിലഹരിയില് നിന് വിതുമ്പല് കേള്ക്കെ
ഞാനുമൊരുകാമ വിസ്ഫോടനമറിയുന്നു
(In Malayalam Translation)
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 6:20 AM UTC
Boys don't like girls like me
Boys don't like girls
With frizzy hair
And red velvet tongues
Boys don't like girls
Who wear heavy boots
And leather jackets a size too big
With pins pushed through the fabric
Declaring their beliefs
Like picket signs
Boys don't like girls
With outie belly buttons
Boys don't like girls
Who shop in the men's section
At thrift stores
Boys don't like girls
Who shut themselves in ivory towers
And refuse to let down their hair
Because they're too afraid
Boys don't like girls
Who talk to plants
Boys don't like girls
Who pick the pickles off
Of their cheeseburger because
They believe its the best part
And you always save the best for last
Boys don't like girls
Who carry trauma on their backs like boulders
Boys don't like girls
Who don't know how to kiss
Without leaving
Blood stains on your lips
Boys don't like girls
Who write love poems for themselves
Who practice archery and witchcraft
Because it makes them feel stronger
Who dance in their kitchen
To the music of popping popcorn
Who shy away from touch
Because to them it feels like acid
Who have stretch marks and cellulite
Who'd rather stay at home with the dog
Than go to that party
Who have ice in their soul
Boys don't like girls like me
And I'm trying to be ok with that
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
Listen, I understand that being happy isn't all that artistic.
That loneliness, anger and self hatred are trendier
than being content.
Unrequited love, jealousy and deep-seeded unquenched desire
mathematically recorded in clever metaphor and
unexpected similes simply sell better than stanzas
sifting and shifting to shape a smile.
But writing is a form of expression, I can only mirror myself.
If only I could express to you fully how amazing it feels
to finally look into that mirror to see me completely
with every flaw, every blemish,
every pimple, every crazy strand of curly frizzy hair,
every tan line, every inch of stretch-marked blotchy skin,
every pet peeve, every tear, every inch of stubbornness,
every reckless thought, every word I've desperately written,
every choice I ever made and truly love every bit of it.
I imagine it feels like moving the ocean; I'm a shining beautiful moon.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
I feel pretty,
Sometimes.
Only when my mask is on,
My hair is fixed,
And everything is in place.
But underneath all that,
There is no natural beauty.
Just an ugly,
Fat,
Frizzy haired girl.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
You're an anomaly.
Your frizzy hair
And strange birthmarks
Give off a less than fantastic impression
To the shallow.
You are soft spoken
You are obsessed with fan fiction.
I hear that you write...
I know that you are
A home schooled super-christian.
Maybe that's part of the reason
For my lack of understanding.
You are an alien
In my socially awkward agnostic world.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
she was a fat kid
with bad skin
and glasses
and frizzy hair
always cracking a joke
or burying her nose in a book
to escape
and forget
because this didn't feel
like who she should be
but she didn't know how to change it
so she hid inside herself
refused to let many people know
who she really was
because it didn't matter anyway
it was all about fitting in
and she never really did
i wish i could go back
and hug her
tell her i love her
and not to worry
because this won't matter
in 5 years or in 10
these painful moments
of rejection
of depression
won't last forever
and she will come out
stronger than ever
she shouldn't be so hard on herself
and i still see her sometimes
when i look in the mirror
and it makes me sad
to know how much i let these things
affect me and who i became
always questioning, if i'm good enough
but i think it's gonna make me better
because i've been there before
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
Through the fields of stars and through the black forest,
And always West, trailing behind them a glowing disk,
With their frizzy coats and gnarling smiles; the heroes try to **** them with meteors.
Scattered shards of stone-fire bits, and the ashen paw prints evading it,
…and the horse shines upon Lykaon’s grave.
Howling are the wolves of Phanes, their number growling with the rains.
And matching windy howling screams, with hoots and hollers inbetween…
The great horns point at the wolven den, from which Fenrir’s gaze sees all man’s sin.
And the flames of Cerberus lick the hori-zon;
…as he descends into Hell’s cave,
And the Drakon hungry for lycanthropes, he hunts the plains of Hades;
But the cunning beasts avoid him while calling out to the moon, over their master’s grave.
Calling out over Lykaon’s grave,
Cyclopean-cotton collects, a smoking pillar covering guide. Obscuring the light and now they are vexed, as the Lykos struck down, they have died.
And their flesh is what the Drakon does crave, as they are devoured on the stones of Lykaon’s grave,
…at that place known as Lykaon’s grave,
Struck down with asters
and gobbled-up,
over Lykaon’s grave.
Wyrd-wolven stars at night
…over Lykaon’s grave,
A werewolf at,
The entrance,
To the cave,
And that King,
…who stands before Lykaon’s grave.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC