"hairspray" poems
Oh the fun we had as little six year olds,
Laughing loudly and acting crazy,
Staying up till the wee hours laying on the floor watching Hairspray
Oh the hyper times we had as ten year olds,
Sipping a little too much caffeine,
Running around acting like animals in the front yard
Oh the crazy times we had as twelve year olds,
Not afraid to get down and *****
Camping and sliding down dirt in the ravine
Oh the terrifying times we had as fourteen year olds,
Living together for a whole week,
Trying to **** each other with words shortly after
Oh the bonding times we had as fifteen year olds,
The darkest time in my life,
Where we cried and I knew we would always be friends
Oh the lively times we had as sixteen year olds,
Both getting our licenses,
Driving around everywhere just to take fun pictures
Oh the tiresome times we had as seventeen year olds,
Sitting in your car before school,
Ranting and laughing about every aspect of life
Oh the amazing times yet to come,
Attending college and growing older,
Still talking and ranting and laughing like every time before.
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
I’ve never understood the pull of the nightlife.
I was always content to hang in my cave and enjoy the homelife.
Every now and then I do wag my tail and purse the trail of the pack,
Always lingering right at the back of the queue.
I follow their scent when they descend into the night,
While they ascend the social status stairway.
From my perch at the bar I watch the social sheep dancing to the beat of popularity:
The girls show off their twirls and brunette curls,
Inviting you into the funhouse down under that never shuts for festivities.
The boys weigh up their options with the biceps on display and perfect quiffs held up by ten tins of hairspray.
Hunting through the flocks of feet trying to find themselves a piece of meat for an all night feast.
When he finally finds his muse he bites her lip and grabs her hair, pulling her in without a care about those who stop and stare.
They kiss for seconds and he whispers in here ear,
“I think we should get outta’ here.”
She giggles grabs his hand and leaves through the exit at the rear.
His friends give him a clap and cheer, whilst his jealous rivals sulk and sneer.
After a few too many drinks I leave through the front, holding my head low to avoid a fight.
Bearing the brunt of another unsuccessful night with no young light to take home and ignite.
I fall on my floor with a case of helicopter head as the room spins in circles and squares in front of my eyes.
My lasting thoughts are of the day ahead; hanging dry and feeling as if I’d rather die.
It's just another day in my nightlife.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
chocolate fireguard, teapot,
or fender, icecream sofa, dry sea
or wet towel, glass hammer,
waterproof teabag, newspaper
raincoat and umbrella, lead parachute, ashtray on a motorbike,
handbrake on a canoe,
vote in a dictatorship,
loudhailer to a deaf mute,
grief at a wedding,
****** in a monastery.
inflatable dartboard,
spoon in a knife-fight,
screen door on a submarine,
wooden soap, shortbread tires,
knitted light bulb,
bread boat, plasticine wire cutters,
paper hole punch, water hat,
custard floorboards,
ceiling tiles made of gravy,
portrait of a bowl of soup,
a stone cigarette,
syrup knickers, hole in my bucket,
plastic oven, wax truss,
liquorice bridge,
false teeth made of soap,
lemonade roof,
jelly boots,
jam cardigan,
paper bicycle pump,
ice-cream saucepans,
soluble drain pipe,
packet of rubber nails,
see-through mirror,
revolving basement restaurant
roll-on hairspray, rubber pencil,
****** with a hole in it,
limp **** pockets on a lettuce,
**** on a fish, lolly pop van in Hell,
one-legged man in an ****
kicking competition,
meaningless life,
unnecessary death,
forgotten words and deeds,
ignored needs,
this poem.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
I love roller coasters.
I love the old rickety ones that jar my spine and push me into my little sister and i can feel our ribcages collide with the
click-click-click as they slowly build suspense and propel me towards the sun.
my last boyfriend hated them. He felt that his stomach couldn’t stand up to the drop of gravity so he ran at the sight of the climb up to reason and fled the line when i unbuckled my seatbelt.
i love waiting in line for a **** good thrill, and i count down the minutes until the spill of my scream echoes into the hairspray of the woman in front of me as she holds the hand of her cut-offs husband.
i guess you aren’t one to pine for the wooden tracks of thrill, either. but last night i lay in bed, on my side, trying to memorize the planes of your face, trying to calculate the angle of your nose as it leans slightly to your right, you tell me it’s crooked, i tell you it is lovely. it is the finest architecture this side of eiffel tower and you run your hands from the top of my collarbone, down the valley of my waist to the top of my hip, and you tell me you wish you had a tiny car to run along the line.
most of all i love the fall.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
I am NOT a size ZERO
My skin is spotted like a dalmatian
angel kisses and acne
My teeth are not pearl white
Chubby feet and lots to love legs.
Muscle is not defined
unmatched clothes cover my body
just a hint of mascara is found on my face.
rarely
My hair is not long and beautiful.
Choppy & Short
fingernails have chipped polish
I am the go to girl.
Not the: go to because she is so drop dead gorgeous girl
But the go to girl "because she knows everyone"
"She can hook me up with him/her" girl.
I will never be a size zero.
My hair may not cover my back and sway while I walk
My teeth are that awkward shade of in between almost looking perfectly white
I don't wear expensive clothes. Let alone match what I do wear.
My skin is far from being as smooth as a "babies ***
My eyes have wrinkles around them already.
SO...
That does not mean in any way, shape, or form that I do not have a soul.
I have feelings.
My heart can only handle so much.
To the boy who laughed at me in the gym:
I am sorry that I do not have a perfect body that is "eye candy"
To the boy{s} who stole my heart, and then hit on my great friend:
I'm sorry I don't use large words and have an opinion on everything.
I'm sorry I am not a poetry goddess or have the ability to pull off wearing
red lipstick and scarves.
To the boy I hardly know in church:
I will NOT give you my roommates number
after you flirt with me to get it.
To all of the boys who look past me while I am walking next to ANY girl:
I'm sorry, I guess I really am not worth "your time"
&
To the boy, who will hold my hand and heart for the rest of, well {forever}:
Can you hurry up?
I am ready for someone to like that I don't plaster myself in powder
and stiffen my hair with hairspray everyday.
I am ready for you to love me for my thousands of small freckles covering my body.
I hope you can love me, unconditionally...
even though I am curvy.
I know you are out there somewhere.
And if I knew you now I would send you to beat up
all of those boys hurting my feelings.
Or just hearing how much you care for me,
that would help too.
I'll be waiting.
xoxo
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
She wore bright glossy
Humbug tights.
Aw ****
the way she smoked
her Marlboro Lights
was pornographic.
She flicked her smoke rings
at the traffic
and was blown to bits by
cheap hairspray.
(Considering my love of Jean Genet,
I told her ‘you make sense this way.’
She smiled and clicked
a ****** heel.
‘Holy **** How real you feel!’
Not that I have points of reference.)
Stop confusing my ******* preference
with La-La-Lola Soho Kink.
Your lips are painted ***** pink
and you wrap them round
your glass and down
your Lambrini-Girls Pre-Party
drink.
(I want you against my kitchen sink!)
And naked -
How you overplayed it!
I think you were a bit
afraid
of both your halves,
your masquerade,
your matching scars.
(What did mermaids do to
all their sailors
struck by stars?)
You’re a crazy fusion,
Top-heavy wonder.
You’re a woman, my dear -
and you pulled me under.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
The sign sun stains in the duct taped window advertising gainful employment in a part time pay by the hour washer deryer upstairs hair stylist crumbling 1960s salon.
Chipped white washed paint draws in the custom customers offering permanates in every style and yesterday's hair of tomorrow "put it on today don't worry about it till tomorrow! The doors open to a bell and hairspray smell, something that might catch fire in a spark or cancer the lungs.
The smock and name tag carry home the hairspray scent and ghost in store radio fades the ears from sleep. The bed reminds you of the pay check though so you push it all aside.
Help wanted wanted help to get out of the make me want to die lifestyle
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 8:25 PM UTC
I'm tired of not having a date
to take me out on a Saturday night
When nobody calls me and its getting late
Its such a pitiful sight
So I've decided to put on my wizard hat on
then go down to the basement below
and when my family have all gone
I'll build my very own boyfriend and nobody would know
He'd have eyes so dark and dreamy
he'd have arms that'd hug me tight
and when he'd turn his face to see me
his face would shine real bright
In a huge *** I stirred the magic brew
and I started dreaming of my lover boy
dreaming of all the lovey-dovey things he'd do
I started to bubble up with joy
I threw in hairspray for wonderful hair
and a Jon Bon Jovi CD for a heavenly voice
For huggability I also threw in my teddy bear
along with all my other stuffed toys
I added cologne and expensive perfume
so he'd always smell like a cool breeze in spring
My boyfriend would be nearly perfect I assume
and he'd be made up of all sorts of wonderful things
I threw in a black tuxedo and dancing shoes
so he'd be classy and gentlemanly
He'd be the perfect boy I would choose
to start my perfect family
As I was done with my recipe
I chanted my magic spell
smoke and fumes rose up endlessly
My hardwork was complete I could tell
Out popped out this boy wonder
who looked dreamy as could be
My knees went weak and my heart spat thunder
as I giggled nervously
We went on our first date
but It was a disaster straight from hell
This monster I decided to create
made me want to take back that awful spell
Me and wonderboy did not work
and we broke up instantly
with no love he turned out to be a ****
completely devoid of chivalry
The good things in a man
are not always the things that show
you see you must understand
True Love isn't what you think you already know
The things that send you head over heels
may not be the things that truly last
because the boy wearing expensive perfume
may turn out to be just another *******
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Stop blaming the world,
For all your problems,
You always seem to curl the truth.
Oh your having a bad day,
I am sorry,
Did your boyfriend leave you again?
Oh wait I know it,
People stop listening to what you say.
Always have to be in the spotlight,
Talk about dramas as if your life is hard,
You have got everything,
So get over your self.
**** my life" is your Facebook status,
But all you want is people to ask
"Are you okay?".
When really your just pathetic,
There is no amount of hairspray,
In the world to solve your selfishness.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
"That's it! I'll take it to the scissors myself!"
Mangled, wrangled, tangled mess,
meandering tendrils coil and cross, clump.
Split ends,
knots so impossibly tied the eagle scout is left bewildered,
sun damage: fried, frizzled, frazzled, frayed.
Broken teeth in a gasping comb,
choking brushes enveloped in the furling mess,
hairspray, fruitless, face it:
(Another) Bad Hair Day.
"That's it! Today's the day!"
The call is made, the appointment scheduled,
you sit and wait.
X's mark the calendar, the day is nigh,
your do's judgement day is at hand.
It's time to settle this.
The day before, you wake up,
absentmindedly getting dressed, drudging through routine,
mirror's the last thing you see.
Crusty eyes suddenly open wide,
as split ends seal and knots unfurl,
sun damage heals and combs sing ceaselessly.
The day is met with a new life,
and the dark days of yore seem like a past life,
as this sunny day seems like all there is.
You laugh at what now appears to be such trivialities,
"Twas a bad hair day! And merely so!"
You allow yourself such a shallow deception.
Your hand grabs the phone, your fingers make the call,
your voice makes the cancellation--
"How could I have been so foolish to resort to such measures?!"
You hang up and scoff at yourself,
a hearty laugh in jest at such hastiness,
tossing and swishing your luscious mane to and fro.
You allow it to slip through your fingers,
on the cusp of the cure,
as the bad hair days truly outnumber the good (you know it to be so).
For the next day will come--
You'll greet the mirror with that heart-wrenching sigh,
in visible anguish at the chaotic mess that encroaches upon your head.
Don't let a good hair day fool you;
make the call.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
How unfair it is
That I cannot do
HAIR MAGIC-
That my wispy locks
Won't listen to me,
Not even with the persuasion
Of a gallon of hairspray
And a million pins.
How unfair that I
Cannot look this good
Every day...
But there is some
Small comfort in my
CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES-
(The ones that everyone raves over)
I shall be messy haired,
But happy.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 6:40 AM UTC
I pulled into the Starbucks parking lot
with the force of a lion after its prey
and with the lethargy of one whom had not eaten in weeks
drudging up that last ounce of strength to obtain survival
my eyelashes had mascara from the night before
and my hair was thick with day-old hairspray
hiding behind sunglasses, I shifted my weight for relief
from the flip-flops rubbing unpleasantly between my toes
keenly aware of the headache above my eyes
I got my coffee and was prepared to flee back to my den
where I could devour it, keeping a wary eye on would be thieves
as my fatigue and I walked hastily towards the exit
Life happened. To my left, sat a couple side by side
they wore the casual clothes of confidence and serenity
he sat by the fireplace, his glasses sat at the end of his nose
her body leaned close to the man she loved, and forward to see
the book that was laid open on the table in front of them
curious minds swallowed the words that were offered there
under gray hair, hands holding, faint smiles formed on their lips
I had never seen such a portrait of true contentment
outside, the image kept speaking to my brain, despite my preoccupation
and I saw you. and I saw me. in thirty years, a virtual lifetime
our aging together; maturing, evolving, creating
side by side, ever content, with books, love and coffee.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
tight silk ******* with the lilac bra to match,
cream coloured knee high socks.
a collection of classic rock on vinyl and a compliments jar covered in news articles.
too many celebrity perfumes, but a versace collection that makes her think of the beach;
peach smelling deoderant.
chapter books on the floor accompanied by hair ribbons of baby blue and cotton candy pink,
****** by Vladimir Nabokov laying near the juvinile pale legs of beautiful sixteen,
as she paints each toe nail red, pink, white.
almost naked body, remember her tight, fresh lace set
hair perfectly auburn, lips perfectly light coral
mouth slightly open
Led Zepplin playing.
hairspray and rose powder,
unlit vanilla candles and twilight scented creams
she smells faintly of Modern by Banana Repulic and her daddy's cigarettes.
silently waving, a flag of patriotism
the beautiful, elegant sixteen.
-part 1
conceptcollection
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Scrubbing my scalp until it bleeds
Red running down my face
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Spraying my hairspray and dry shampoo after
Perfume fills the air
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Picking up the strands falling out
The shower wall filled
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Hoping when she grabs me in for a hug
I no longer smell like home
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Looking in the mirror hoping to keep her out
But realizing i'm just like her
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 11:03 AM UTC
last summer
I met a boy of 6 feet tall
he is two years older than me
he listens to punk rock
has an alcoholic father,
and his kisses
are sweeter than honey
and softer than silk
we spent countless, long, dreamy
cold, rainy, humid
nights
in my backyard
with the smell of too much hairspray
which I can not bring myself to smell again
and mosquito spray which I never apply anymore
11pm
4am
the hours passed by like minutes, seconds
under the stars
telling secrets
I was scared
scared of losing him
even though he was already lost
fading
disapearing
slowly and then all at once
hallways
silence
stares
me alone
him and her
11pm
4am
hours seem like eternitys, milleniums
crying
flashbacks
thinking about the us that will never be
blood spills on the paper
spelling out your words, promises
do I even cross his mind
maybe probably not no
I'm sorry I wasn't
skinny
pretty
funny
admirable
good
enough
I'm sorry
we didn't even say goodbye
goodbye, Brandan
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
i had a great big moth flying round the light
attracted by bulbs that were very bright
flying round round as busy as can be
he was rather noisy and annoying me
so i got some hairspray to chase the moth away
but his wings went stiff i am sad to say
this it made him quiet and from the light he fled
but he couldnt fly he had to glide instead
now the moth was quiet and couldnt fly no more
all that he could do was glide around the floor
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
i am post-cigarette kisses
and hairspray tangles
and cold-air smell
and purple eyes
and cracking knuckles
and high top converse
and paper bagged groceries
i am hypocritical
and insensitive
and judgmental
and always alone
and never sleeping more than 4 hours a night
i am weak
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
your hair’s so **** distracting
it’s gorgeous, yes,
slicked back or even gelled up into the punk rock staple
of I hate my parents
but it pulls me away from your face
like a sucker for half-assed romance novels
your doe like hazel eyes
draw me in
your bumpy nose
rocks against mine and makes me giggle
your lopsided grin
makes it so easy to get lost in kisses
but when you’re screaming at the top of your lungs
about how much ******* hairspray you need for the next show
it gets me wondering
and wondering is always bad, but,
did it ever occur to you that girls will still love you even if you don’t grease your hair up
did it ever occur to you that I will still love you
but then again,
you’ll eventually just get a haircut
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 9:40 PM UTC
I have a message for the kid sitting in the back of the classroom
You know, the one with the bruises, ask him what's wrong he'll give you the dumbest excuses
"I fell down the stairs, and ran into the door"
But stairs and doors don't give black eyes and broken bones so what are you lying for?
I have a message for the prettiest girl in school
You know, The one hiding behind all that make-up and hairspray
Pretending she couldn't be having a better day
Yet she's afraid to go back to her broken home
Because her step-dad hurts her mom and her brother won't leave her alone
School is her sanctuary
What you don't know can be scary.
I have a message for the boy on his skateboard
Sellings drugs and liquor to make a quick buck
Then he got caught for possession and now he's stuck
In that cell all by himself remembering what his friends said
"We're bros, forever" But they left him for dead.
I got a message for that wierd girl in the lunchroom
The one that eats alone,
She has no place to call home
She smells bad because she doesn't own a shower
Living in shelters, her life is out of her power
Because her parents messed up she has to hurt
But she wants to do better so she does her school work
I have a message for the boy blogging
Those cuts on his wrists are not cat scratches
They're more like past mistakes left on his arms in patches
He can't help how sad he always feels
But he refuses to be that kid "on pills"
I have a message for that girl with the strict parents
Wishing she could bring her girlfriend to meet the family
But she knows if she did they wouldn't be happy
Because being gay is a sin
And if you're gay you're not kin
**** what a world we live in.
I have a message for all the messed up kids
Who struggle in the daily lives they live.
You will be okay
Things will get better someday.
So put away that blade and pick up that paint brush
Don't end your life before you've felt the rush
Wait until you've had your first kiss
I promise you there will be so many moments of bliss
Put down that bottle of pills
You of all people deserve life's thrills
I know sometimes it's hard to catch the curveballs life throws your way,
Just get low and get ready to play
To the kids who feel lost and alone
I will be the one to welcome you home
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Your buttons looked like smiling faces
Green fire below your every step
Green like the sea
Green like algae growing on the tips
Of rocks
That protrude from your knuckles
Bare flesh becomes red flesh
Under the weight of the gaze
Tear collecter
You bore me with stories of frailty
Yeah, I know I'm human and life is fragile and all that jazz
I just want to **** some brain cells
That's why I waste my money on coral
And pearls
Hairspray_ letters and bone marrow
Drinking licorice
Smoking incense
Sparking up a glass pipe
Full of Apple blossoms
Colorless
Oderless
Gasoline fumes
Coat up my lungs with lackluster black lesions
Uppers downers lefters
Drill a hole through mg skull if you love me
Dump some 409 in my skull if you love me
Nothing feels better
Than Mr. Clean jumping in my veins
From the mouth of the needle
At least this time I saved enough money
To buy a pencil
So I could write this poem
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 2:18 AM UTC
Modern and Contemporary Poetry
takes up most of the passenger seat.
Pages' edges ruffled like the balled-up polo I'm wearing. *Tommy Hilfiger'd
be rolling in his millions.* Twenty minutes till work's screen door crashes on the frame twice before settling. Three salad plates, a skillet, and two jars of unsweetened tea condensate
on the metal counter. They soak dinner bills and paper towel coasters.
The front door vacuum seals behind sandal families reeking of Chlorine
and hairspray. Beachy look. Three more families crowd in behind them, taking turns sifting through the hostess desk peppermints for discarded toothpicks. Reservations for 7:00 come in at 6:50 and demand a table. They're just like the mints packed tightly
in the lobby, but there are a few patient ones at the bottom. They're the ones that inspire stanzas in Modern and Contemporary Poetry, the college textbook waiting on my passenger seat. Three more hours.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
The clank of stilettos on concrete,
Of sparkling clothes,
Bathrooms hazy with hairspray and perfume,
The pink ribbon caught in your hair,
Lipstick and cash,
Mint and your blackberry
Ipod and your favorite book
Some things you won’t leave home without.
You. And your bag.
One for every mood..and every occasion!
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
The air is crisp.
Crisp, that is the word my dad used to describe Gwen's voice after the No Doubt concert. I was eight then.
Crisp, the word I thought of, when I was flicking that brown lighter I thought it would be funny to buy, sitting on the stoop. Striking the wheel, careful not to hit the little red button. The air swept against the sunglasses I paid too much for with the lenses that are mismatched and the sweater my mom bought me two christmases ago that originally I hated.
Falling leaves drift by those little windows to my soul but I am too distracted by the thought of him coming to pick me up to try to attach them back to the tree. Too bad too, because with every leaf detached, comes winter further on my face.
Thats when the crystals fall from my dreams, and cover the once adobe hills in spells of skyscrapers. Those are the guys who form tools out of my can of hairspray and chip at the ozone trying to scrape off the blue, and see what all that paint is covering. Icarus is horrified.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
I put my heart on a string
and gave it to you
as a necklace
You hung it from the ceiling
and beat it half to death
like a ****** pinata
Wrapped it around your finger
and yanked it up and down
like a macabre yo-yo
I swallowed all of the pain and
it tasted like hairspray
like chewing up eggshells
like biting aluminum foil
like licking pennies
I don't even want my heart back
please just please **** it now
step on it wearing stilettos
I just want to be whispers in your mind
I want to be a spider on the back of your skull
I want the curse of remembrance upon your soul
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC