Hair, Hair, Hair, it’s everywhere.
It’s in my bed; it’s on the floor,
it’s behind each and every door.
I sweep, I vacuum and I clean the drains,
But the hair comes back again and again.
One day I thought I’d start a pile,
in just three months it stretched up a mile.
My wife and daughter I believe are to blame,
to live without them would be a shame.
I guess I’ll keep fighting the piles of hair,
I wonder if they have a carpet version of nair?
My hair is a mop hanging over my crown
The shade of standard mammalian brown
I am envious of your tresses
Over your face is a redheaded swirl,
Gradating into your dreadlocked shawl
Tendrils of auburn drag along the floor like a high wizard’s gown
If I had your hair I would knot each section into braids
Weave it with bobbles and beads
I could take a curler to my cape, straighteners to my legs
I’ve always been a fan of the redhead, pre-Raphaelite waves
Reds and yellows and oranges cascade
You take it to another level though, and boy
It is most enviable!
I would ask that we swap, but with my fur pattern you’d look quite odd
With a blackish flannel hanging on your head
And the odd patch of wiry moss 'tween your legs
And I must say I would look a bit daft
With a crimped ginger trench coat swamping my back!
So I shall just say, Mr. orang-utan
Your hair is great!
I cut my hair,
the tips that you liked curlying around your fingers while you sang are now gone.
I painted it with sunshine rays,
To surround me with all the light I've been needing since the last time I got blinded by yours.
And that flock of hair that was shorter from that time I accidentally burned it trying to light you a cigarrette, the one that made me smile with its stubborness to stay still, the one that reminded me of our first night, it has growned.
There are many different kinds of hairs
Some are long and some are short
Some look like spider strings falling off your head
Some are thick and some are thin
Some feel as soft as a baby's bum
Nothing and nothing
Some are colorful and some are not
Some are furry, some are funny
Some are blond, some are not
Some go up and are wacky and stretched
Blond is better than black
Hairs are bears!
If you want to see hairs, take a look at your dad's hairy chest!
Some hairs look like cotton candy
These are all different kinds of crazy hair
i had forgotten your laugh.
i had forgotten your smile.
i had forgotten your eyes.
i had forgotten the way you whispered on the phone.
i had forgotten the way you hated your thigh.
i had forgotten Sam and Alex.
i had forgotten how you giggled when i cried.
i had forgotten why you giggled when i cried.
i had forgotten the nights i didn't like myself.
i had forgotten your favorite color.
i had forgotten how big your ambitions were.
i had forgotten it all.
but i will never forget the color of your hair.
Her hair was long
Down to that place where ass just barely meets back
The place his fingers linger
Every time she says goodbye
The place where two tiny dimples make up for the fact she never smiles
Long like the days he spends
Wondering if she's happy at home
wondering if she's just as good at pretending to be in love
As she is at pretending not to be
Like the time he spends waiting for a sign from her... or of her
Long like her absence in his bed
He hears her laughter in his head
He'd settle for hearing her name
Her hair was thick
Like the way his tongue feels after a midnight pack of camels
She says she doesn't smoke anymore
But she does
Because she says a naked man can't smoke alone
It looks funny
Thick like her thighs
And silky smooth when they graze his stomach
Like his great grandmother's accent
He doesn't understand her but finds comfort in the texture of the syllables
Her hair was strong
Like her conviction
Her determination to stay at home where she belongs
Though she longs to be with him
Strong like the coffee she brews
Because she's too rebellious to measure anything
Coffee grounds or consequences
Like his addiction
His compulsion to reign her in
To keep her in his bed
In his heart
In his head
Her hair is dark
Like her eyes
Black pools that reflect her black heart, rotten soul
Dark like the way she makes love with the lights off
Because then she can make him into anybody
Whoever it is that she wants that day
Dark like that space between waking and dreams
Where everything is mixed up and nothing like it seems
Where he reaches out to touch her and finds only hair
A few strands on his pillowcase to remind him she was there
He finds them everywhere
Last night he found one wrapped around his big toe
He freed himself but found it hard to let it go
She says she hates to wear a ponytail
Like she doesn't want her hair to look like a horse's rear end
And he's just a jackass for letting her go again