"haircut" poems
Confidence feels scarce sometimes.
Most times.
But over the years,
I can tell that I've grown.
So thank you.
Thank you to the boy,
Who in eighth grade
Told me that my smile was beautiful.
Before that whenever I smiled,
Or even laughed,
I'd cover my mouth,
Or I'd hide my face.
But he asked me why.
I told him plainly I didn't like my smile,
But he told me it was beautiful.
Thank you to the girl
Who just last year
Told me my nose was unique and elegant,
Like sculpted marble.
My nose is, and always has been large,
But ever since,
I've been able to hold myself with poise,
At the mention of my nose.
Somewhat proud of its size.
Thank you to my friend,
Who told me last summer,
That my haircut was cute when it was down.
I had cut my hair impulsively,
It was shorter than it'd been in years.
I always wore it up,
I thought I looked dumb down.
But she told me my hair looked great on me.
I wore it down that night,
My friends complimented the look,
I've been able to notice the beauty in it since.
I have been built up by compliments.
I can see my own beauty easier now.
Selflove isn't always summoned purely internally,
Sometimes it takes a little help.
So thank you,
Thank you all so much.
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 9:08 PM UTC
A new start,
something fresh.
Friends look at you
with wide eyes
erasing all the previous
times you had met
with this new time,
all from something simple.
Something fresh.
A haircut.
Although going from
long flowing wavy
strawberry blond hair
to dark pixie short
brunette colored hair
is quite the difference...
but it's something fresh.
Something new.
Something great.
Exhilarating.
Exciting.
Wonderful.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
who knew you were filled
with gold!
when I stuffed the dynamite down
your throat and ran you
through the casino I wasn’t
expecting a jackpot
maybe a princess piñata or a
party popper
but a corner leather and a
fresh haircut?
no, we’re not
in the 50’s anymore
but your vault was guarded
like mob headquarters when you head
started sputtering
quarters
you the
light-skinned pin action
movie star
looking highly alien
you
my diamond studded
chain
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
Dear Best friend,
You know who you are. You are the beautiful girl in the back of the class, who keeps to herself, but is still strangely likable. You are the girl with the piercing blue eyes and dark, dark sense of humor.
Dear Best Friend,
I know you literally are always willing to listen, whether it is talking about our mutual crush on that guy in our favourite class, or complaining about society, or my parents, or when I just need to talk about the weather to distract myself from the looming fear of everything going wrong.
Dear Best Friend,
I still remember when you first told me about your depression. I had always sort of known, but hearing you say it out loud, I honestly didn’t know what to do, because I don’t want you to end up like me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to turn to sharp inanimate objects, I don’t want your world to be dark, hopeless, I don’t want you to fall because depression is a slippery slope, trust me. I don’t want you to forever be broken. I don’t want you to be scared.
I just don’t want you to end up as ****** up as me.
Dear Best Friend,
I know I’m not perfect, I’m not even close, and I ***** up... A lot. But I will do what ever I can to ALWAYS be there for you. I will always be the dorky, idiotic, annoying sidekick.
Dear Best Friend,
You are beautiful, don’t let anyone, ever tell you otherwise. Especially not some 12 year old boy with a stupid haircut.
You are short, there is no denying that, but so is Billie Joe Armstrong and we still think he is the hottest thing since wood stoves.
You have blue eyes, that I know you think are weird, but they are like oceans only not as dark.
Your hair is almost as straight as the members in half the bands we listen to, but each curl falls in it’s own special place
You are beautiful, stunning, breath-taking, and every other synonym for that word.
Dear Best Friend,
I’m sorry you have to put up with me when I am like this. I know I should just bottle it up, but for whatever reason it always seems like I can’t stop the words from escaping. I’m sorry, I am so so sorry that you have to deal with me.
Dear Best Friend,
I really want to smack you upside the face with a brick sometimes. But I won’t, because I am more scared of you hitting back than I am of doctors (and that’s saying something)
Dear Best Friend,
I promise that I will always be there as long as you need me, whether it’s in the middle of the night or when I am thousands of miles away with timezone barriers between us, just call me. When you are scared, call me. When what you are scared of is yourself, call me. When you need a friend, call me. When you want to gush about your new boyfriend, call me. When you want to just chat, call me.
Dear Best Friend,
At this point I think of you more like a sister that a friend.
So, Dear Sister, I love you so much. Thank you for showing me that even the darkest nights have a sunrise, and that those sunrises are always the most spectacular.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
Haircut
Strands of hair unruly way
Hair cut an adventure of the day
Scrolling through the models on book
pictures in mind to decide the look
Hair cut an adventure of the day
Through the times in a different way
young ones cry of the barbers scissor
A grim look of teen in the mirror
every hair cut in the heart a terror
Good or bad an haircut is an adventure
pety
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
Got it buzzed
back to GI days.
A quarter inch
all over, I said
to the dubious barber.
It took some
getting used to
when passing
mirrors.
But now I love it!
I call it
my Monk's haircut.
No maintenance.
Wake up, perfect;
Swim, perfect;
Stroll about
in hurricane,
perfect.
Now I love
to feel
the wind
in my hair
that is
no longer
there.
~mce
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
True equality is what is wished for
But what if you really opened that door
What would be on the other side?
I’m not sure we’d enjoy the ride
Individuality dies with equality
There are no choices you see
If everyone has to have the same things
No one gets to win the brass ring
No more people like you and people like me
If the same is all we ever get to be
The same model car and the same clothes
The same old food in the same homes
The same haircut and the same color
Or we are all clean shaved so much the duller
The same education for everybody
You’re paid the same as anybody
Sports would all end in a tie
If there still played at all… sigh
No more winners, No more losers
No choices so no choosers
There are no differing opinions you see
When you’re a victim of true equality
No reason to strive
There is no ladder to climb
No reward for hard work
Are you feeling the irk?
No matter what, you cannot get ahead
It’s almost as if you are full of lead
But that just it, no ahead to get
When everyone gets what everyone gets
The Thought police are out in full force
No one is married or there is no divorce
No kids at all or everyone has 2
There is no longer me and no longer you
When equal society is the important thing
Everyone gets to feel every sting
Orwellian yes
But truth none the less
The only people different are the ones in charge
While everyone suffers they live it large
They get to decide how much you’re alive
And they can tell you 2+2=5
So how does this strike you?
Will that work for you too?
I’m not a fan
Of this little plan
Because not everyone is the same
No matter what people will claim
We don’t think the same thoughts
We don’t call the same shots
Not even twins are exactly the same
And if we all were, what a boring game
Just a bunch of clones, going nowhere
Just dull and drab, no bling and no flair.
Yet that is what current society prescribes
Even though were all from different tribes
If we ever achieve true equality
Remember sometimes wishes end badly
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
eye did. As my prejudices expected, the odd assortment of "characters"were all present and not to be unaccounted for...a romantic comedy on a good Friday, attracts the believers, the well wishers, the ones who think if only the world was.. and I was not re or so tired of life, unemployed, lonely, damaged in some manner of being...
not too many young, just a few... theater darkness is a masque, with a risqué chance of oh no, I've been witnessed by the non-believers.
the infirm with their mobile caretakers and paraphernalia were there. Odd couples, were there. If there was one unifying common characteristic, I selected this one. We all needed haircuts. eye don't know why but it made me think about going to get one's haircut, and the rituals that requires....and it is and is not a bit like being in a almost totally private world inpublic, where you, the individual and some outside force majeure, hairdresser, movie screen engages and temporarily transforms you. That is why, I, went to the movies on a Friday afternoon, to be transformed and not reformed, in public, in private...
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
I've been painted pink the instant the doctors
Wiped me of red.
I looked like the boys I knew - our differences a
Color palette provided by Mommy and Daddy.
I was their little girl, their princess who wished
Her hair would stop growing,
Lest she be locked in a stone tower.
I didn't mind the dress so much then,
Not when it was the only difference between me
And them.
Magic mirror before me, is wrong all I'll ever be?
I shut my eyes, unable to stand my body bare.
My knight, your skin simply is not right.
I've read the mirror never lies.
Mommy and Daddy are yelling
About my butch haircut.
Our little girl the **** they say.
I did it myself.
Mommy still buys me dresses,
Daddy tells her to spend the money on
Therapy instead.
Daddy asks about boyfriends,
Mommy tells him I don't have any because I
Hide my *******
I tell them I'm all wrong.
They agree.
We're talking about two different things.
I don't change for gym anymore.
The girls are secretly relieved I won't be there
To cast a wandering eye in their soft bodies.
I'm relieved I won't be in the wrong locker room.
Mommy and Daddy don't like me
Telling them who I am.
I've finally found my way out of the tower and
The king and queen are upset because their
Princess never made it home, just the knight.
My little girl, Mommy cries.
I follow the point of Daddy's finger to the door
Until I'm on a bus bound for somewhere else.
I shift from Pangea into separate pieces.
Finally I have space to breathe.
Needles, knives, pills bend my body to my will -
It took Michelangelo three years to build David.
Mommy and Daddy believe me to be
A delivery man. They are expecting to sign off
On a television set, yet when they see me
Idle in the doorframe there is a hesitance, a hope.
But most of all there is silence.
Mommy cannot speak, her hand curls like a gasp
Around her mouth.
Daddy begins to cry, his eyes pale and blue.
I am hugged.
They don't say sorry, but I hear then whisper.
My little boy, they say. My little boy.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
I met someone today and he was awesome.
He wore a leather jacket, almost the same as yours.
He had a neat haircut but a funny beard.
Do you remember when
I used to always pester you
About trimming yours?
I did it all the time and you never listened.
Anyway, he told me a joke;
One that I've heard before and that still
Made me laugh like the world was about to end.
I think I know where I heard it the first time.
He also ordered your milkshake, I mean ours.
And smoked the same brand of cigarettes
You always did.
He was awesome because he took me for a ride
On his Harley Davidson and gave me his helmet
The way you always did.
He was awesome because he winked
At random girls and smiled at me
The way you always did.
He was awesome because he listened to the blues
The way you always did.
He was awesome because he reminded me of you.
Baby I think I still love you.
F.Z.N
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
I wake up. The bed is cold.
I am cold.
A gray day awaits.
I stare into the blank ceiling,
And feel an emptiness I cannot fill.
Not without her.
I stand up and shuffle across my shattered bedroom,
To the door.
The glint of the golden doorknob is the only color in this place.
I drink a tea. My mother is worried.
She's starting to notice I'm not eating at all.
Maybe...
It's time for a haircut.
A change...
From who I am. It'll do me good,
To be someone else, for a moment.
"I still love her" I think to myself, but it is silenced when I slice a hole into my head.
It is clean, a thin trail of blood which becomes a waterfall.
It streams down my face, and I keep cutting,
Blood and hair and tears falling as I stare into this broken mirror,
And the most horrible, hideous monster looks back at me.
I hate him so much, and I cut more in hopes that he will look away.
But he doesn't.
His frozen, desolate eyes stare deep into my soul,
Or rather his own,
The poor disgusting *******
He has forgotten what it is to feel anything but pain,
And even that is escaping him.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 9:58 PM UTC
For Connie, a Friend Indeed
There are no pictures of poker-playing dogs!
The health certificates make for dull reading
And last month’s issue of Texas Monthly
Has not the old cache’ of Field and Stream
There are no pictures of poker-playing dogs!
Among the snaps of Baby’s First Haircut
Children and grandchildren in cute little frames
And lovely young girls all styled for the prom
There are flowers and scents and catalogues
But –
There are no pictures of poker-playing dogs!
Woof!
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
I got a haircut a couple months ago
Just after I had the worst possible month of my life
And I guess it was almost symbolic
Because I was cutting ties and knots in my hair with what I had been killing myself over for the past year.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
I got a haircut you would hate
My eyes framed now by only the dark circles under my eyes
This loss of sleep is worth it
I’m finding myself without you
And I am in love with the person I see
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 4:12 AM UTC
Please explain inflation
Why do prices rise
For when I go out shopping
They change before my eyes
I just don't seem to get it
why some go up and down
Why a red car's more expensive
Than a new car that is brown
I tried to do some simple math
I went back to the books
Now I think that all economists
Are just white collar crooks
Follow me on this one, now..
A buck in 1970 is now worth near five fifty
I don't know how they did it
But I think it's kind of shifty
A funeral costs much more today
But this one is a pickle
For in western movies I have seen
My life's worth a plugged nickel
That hasn't changed in many years
So, I made a decision
It has to do with the new math
And that ****** new long division
Wheat is up, and so is beer
And theres one that I resent
To put my worth in when it's asked
It's still just two **** cents
A house...well, that's a nightmare
Some cost more than you will earn
You'll be owing for a lifetime
Your mortgage you won't burn
Water, there's another thing
It's now worth more than gas
But now, our nice tap water
It's quality won't pass
Six cents would get you postage
To send a letter, that's not bad
Today..it's almost ten times that
And that is really sad
But here's one that's confusing
Of all the things you've bought
This one's never varied
It's still a penny for your thoughts
two bits could get a haircut
And it would also get a shave
But now to get this combo
It takes two weeks to save
Hockey cards they cost a dime
And baseball cards did too
But, now they're an investment
And a dime won't buy you two.
Please think on this real hard now
It's a tale that's really old
Let's find how Rumplestiltskin
Could spin straw into gold
Inflation is a ******
It's all over the earth
I say smile, and then bend over
And that's my two cents worth!
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 5:02 PM UTC
I’m obsessed
with counting.
Even the 47 steps
to my English class.
When that became
boring I created a way
to document, not
time, but distance.
And 47 turned to 54.
681 days since I
cut 11 inches
off my hair.
359 days since he
said Keep in touch
when the last
thing I wanted
to do was touch him.
319 days since she
didn’t text back and
then 294 days later
moved 1,731 miles
away and by now I
wouldn’t even know
where to send a letter.
One day
I decided to get
another haircut,
but I no longer bother
to know the measurements
of the pieces that
are only going to be
swept away.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
Vague and curiosity strike the audience
Of the author of such a cryptic message
The writer has everything to say but doesn't choose to say it
You will stop and consider the message's possible true meaning
Like one needing "to cut off her dead ends" when one posts a picture
Of a haircut
Or one saying "she now knows how it feels"
And her reading it, she does.
But these cryptic messages bring out the creativity in all our hearts
How can we contort or twist those messages to get its true meaning
We wonder and consider and wonder that one says something so poetic, so beautiful
Yet poetry and a cryptic messages share something
Poetry breaks a heart of the reader and leaves them wondering how
A cryptic message does the same
Except the reader wonders and considers if it really is meant for them...
Or someone else
A cryptic message holds so much power
And the truth that the author refuses to share
A poem takes an idea and allows its roots to grow in an infinite way that creates a stir in the readers mind
So really, a poem is just like a cryptic message.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
A new haircut,
Receiving in activities
Like oral ***
What's the difference?
You only feel like a new person
For the first hour or so
Then
It's back to your regular old life
Feeding yourself
And perhaps the kind feline next door
You aren't sure who it belongs to
But it comes to you when you make that little clicking sound
With your tongue
And you sometimes wish you had all the time in the world
To waste
On silly things that are nowhere near productive
But they make you feel good
Like that new haircut
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 9:53 AM UTC
An ****** haircut,
she does give,
that only a lover can;
sweetly amatory
are the cuts and nicks,
that heighten
my sensual pleasure.
click of scissors -
the sound her lips make,
when we hesitantly unlock,
after a long, squiggly, sloshy kiss.
*now, her scissors
get busy, giving the
tips of my hair
sweet pain of love bites,
my ***** are on fire,
goosebumps sow desire,
my eyes, wink and shut,
if I swoon, no wonder,
this sweet torment,
brings me to the limits.*
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 10:30 AM UTC
You were sitting in my golden room
You threw my things off their perches
and proceeded to wall on my antique bed.
My bible was pretending to lay silent on the floor.
Oppression wasn’t in the Quran on my bed but the 2000 Red Dodge Ram
Drove you away.
Your parents deemed
my short haircut
a symbol of homosexuality.
They placed my name among the delinquents.
You would always rock your skinny jeans.
I know you were wearing them when you tried to slit your own wrists.
You found things to live for when you found me.
We shed our pants, camped out on my battered couch, and watched Rocky Horror.
I’ll never understand;
you can have love affairs with Panic!At the Disco and Carried Underwood.
You drug me to Jarritos Mexican Soda
And hugged the stranger in the TWLOHA t-shirt.
You texted me “Goodnight, seep tight, don’t let the zombies bite” when you finished my “No mas pantalones” notice.
We went to Sweet CeCe’s to celebrate getting fired from your therapist.
I know you’re okay
the same way you quoted John Green in my room that day
and I still miss you.
Keep your smiles and your paints.
we’ll be 18 one day.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
The kitchen scissors met my hair,
before the bathroom mirror.
I had run out of cigarettes.
He didn't text back.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
"Stop It!" shouted the man
who was dressed in a ***** pin stripe suit,
eye glasses half askew on his nose,
ski-slope haircut sported since his youth.
My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the hundredth time I felt it's sting.
I stood there, patiently and quiet
caressing my double bass violin
my secret seventh grade lover;
she had **** curves and a deep, soothing voice.
I stood there, impatiently and quiet
waiting for Mr. Heidrich to finish the lesson
focused on the third seat violinist
whom played without feeling, again.
I stood there, overbearingly anxious
tapping on the shoulder of my wooden BFF
my rendition of the William Tell Overture
A performance worthy of a Grammy!
The man in the ***** pin stripe suit,
turned and looked at me, scornfully
his half-bald head turned beet red
body shook violently like an earthquake!
The energy released from his gullet
would have made Mount Vesuvius jealous
fiery vocals of curse and rage
would have made the evilest of demons run for cover!
My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the 101st time I felt it's sting.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
Just a little off the top.
Drawin' a dotted line
'round the skull
takin' your shears
just above the ear.
Cuttin' a close crop.
Burrowin' into the skin this time
'round the skull
now your clippers
smilin' so chipper.
Leavin' a head clean smooth.
Whistlin' at a near-finished work
'round the skull
peelin' back the skin
bravin' a peek within.
Grabbin' that comb with its fine tooth.
Unfurlin' that pink mass of quirk
'round the skull
eyein' where tendrils append
trimmin' the dead ends.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
*If we leave the litter behind,
and run until our legs become a burden and our heads start to swell and come loose like a white-cloth-Arabian-silk turban,
we can make it home before 5.*
Past the market that only makes sense in the sun,
along the terraces slipping from their foundations,
skip on-top of walls before falling back into our run
behind the street of seared spice smells, conjured up by different nations.
We’ve left the litter behind.
We’d run further than these cities and their boundaries,
take transport to the tops of heavenly high hills,
cause havoc amongst the machinery of the foundries
and make it home for five if we run through those mills.
We’ve left the litter behind.
Holding hands we’ll remember the brush of the grass on our thighs,
farmer’s fields and the dark brown cut-throughs we took,
our pockets full of receipts and chewing gum supplies
and the look of your pale blue eyes amongst your fresh air haircut.
I hope the litter don’t mind.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC