The twists and turns in your hair
give away the thousand year history untold
the smile on your face warms every warm blooded’s beating heart
eons of bond, shared blood, genes
that connect you to everything
every sea on earth
all the star dust above clouds, far, far away
the twinkle in your eyes, diamonds in black sky
the hum in your tone, pure as the holy Himalayan spring water
what wonder you are
how small you stand against the mountains that surround
how big your heart
I’m not really talking about those who were born with red hair, but I’m talking about those who color their black hair red while going grey with the belief that the red will make grey less obvious while not actually making it black because putting black on black hair would give it away. They’re sort of goofy looking; they can have some remaining grey hairs on the sides that never got dyed, so now they’re left with all three colors of black, grey, and red hairs and look like clowns. They’re also pretty OCD; taking multiple showers a day, shaving constantly, repeating lame jokes, etc. They wear their pants high up, walk around shirtless with a towel hanging off a shoulder, and they’re always chewing on candies. They also love tea, and make it minimum five times a day including one at 10pm promptly. Maybe one at 2am too, who knows, since everyone is asleep by then. Because they’re on antipsychotics, it’s a joy to make tea. They stutter songs out of tune and forget/make up lyrics and grind ginger and other spices on mortar and pestle. It makes them feel like it’s morning and that they’re right on track with life; when they’re busy making tea at 2am. It’s usually a jolly song and there’s loud thumping sounds coming from the mortal and pestle. All weirdos love tea and feel that it’s always tea time, it’s a fact.
Lift up my hair
Kiss me from behind
Across the shoulders
She was a blonde high-school classmate who wanted to become a missionary one day. On the bus ride home, she told me about a time when someone she knew got into a car accident and almost became decapitated, or was decapitated. I eventually learned what that meant. Those days were cold and grey from what I recall. Sports jackets and pathetic blue jeans. Rice paper powder face and straight long hair. Cold wet basements and visions of a blue house along with thoughts on what it’s like to be grown and to be so far away from all this darkness here. Across the seas and straight to Europe, people probably lived a better life. Riding a car around blue hills with headphones on. From the basement window, the bleak daylight used to shine where I stood. And my heart would skip thinking about the college guy who could save me. He sat at the dinner table with a pack of cigarettes. He had a checkbook and a history of love affairs. I keenly listened and made glamorous assumptions about the adult world and was jealous of him and his freedom and all that. It was sad thinking about what could have been in those times of eye liners and flare jeans. Maybe weekend trips to California and a dark haired boy to go out on dates with and to brag about. But those were tied to dreams with the blue hills and convertibles; far out of my reach. In order to live you have to have cheap thrills so that’s where his cigarettes and stories came in. Those were hopeless cold times and my skin was pale and the clouds were grey and my eyes twinkled at whatever that flickered before me.
Please don’t leave, he whispered from the depths of his heart
Her forest eyes pierced into his mind and took him elsewhere
Where red-yellow birds flew over the rainbow
And the waterfalls drenched into the ground
Don’t leave me, he thought
As he buried his nose in her hair
And got soaked in that waterfall.
In a dimly lit room, there remained only he and she
But when he closed his eyes, she was somewhere else
Her dark hair cascading down her back
The piece of clothing around her; green
Her forest marble eyes and her adoring smile
Flashing at him with the peaking sunlight
Her careless walk with the wind
How salty her skin
He clenched the shell of her underneath the dim lights
And begged her not to leave
The voice tells me to get into the elevator and to go to a certain floor. I do so as told. Instinct tells me to walk down the hallway. There’s promise of a grand prize; the greatest thing, the highest goal. There’s supposed to be something that I’ve always wanted at the finish. I’m told to open the door. I do so.
And there you stand, behind that door
wearing a black and white tuxedo. Your chiseled face looking even sharper against the shadows. Your creamy skin and shiny hair, contrasting each other. Your glass-like eyes, contracting in the spotlight directed at you.
You are fully attentive and looking at me,
but with a look of worry. Wordlessly, you give a notion that you want me back, that you’re begging for me now. That you’re willing to disregard everything for me and that I could too, for you.
But there’s something unkind, untrustworthy, and cold about this whole new setup. There’s doubt brewing in my gut.
There’s an uneven tune playing in my ears.
And there’s a sad, tragic, unstoppable feeling,
that I wished it were true.
“Hey, I just wanna let you know that I’m getting a new girlfriend. You never give importance to me or to the things that I value. You never want to do anything together that’s fun or conducive to our relationship. You don’t have any future goals. I don’t even know what it is that you want… from me, from us, from our relationship, our plans, future, anything. We’re losing sight of the things we have in common. For god’s sake I don’t even know what you really enjoy doing anymore. Coming home has become a task. I feel dead or as if I’m dying. I think you’re completely not there for me nor are you beneficial to my mental health. We don’t communicate. You’re not supportive. I have no idea what makes you happy, and the few things that does– god help me– I don’t get it. It’s tiresome. I quit. I’ve moved on. I have a new girlfriend.”
“Does she have better hair than me?”