My Hair (not poetry)

I think I'm about to do this think for real now. I promised someone that I would grow my hair, to me that meant a lot of things. That meant that I would love myself the way he loves me, nothing artificial, just me for me. It meant that unlike my past self I would not chop my hair each time a person walked out of my life (because he is not going anywhere and honestly he's never gone anywhere, I'm the one that has done the leaving). So I promised to pour some love into my hair, to grow it like our relationship, to spend some quality time getting to know me as he had done and to love myself for whatever I discovered on the journey. He came to visit me this past weekend and before he came I did some cleaning. Fun and painful going through old memories, throwing things that needed to be thrown, keeping what needed to be kept. Letting go, lightening my load. I let a lot of things go and it felt soooo good, even the hurt felt good because it was a new kind of pain, not the old kind. The kind of pain that you get when you pour alcohol on a wound, the "germ killing" pain that does you more good than harm and lets you know that your wound will heal. So after throwing away some old things I realized today that I'm still hanging on to one old thing, my permed hair. It looks like my heart used to look until the healing process began, dry, shiny, non-cooperative with the new goodness that is growing out of my scalp. So tonight I am going to go home and cut this shit outta my head. I'm going to do my favorite things and color my hair a happy color and I'm going to revel and roll in my new found hair.

Old Things (repost)

So I haven't written anything new and I think it is because I haven't given due pittance to the old things. Tonight since I consumed a rediculous amount of caffiene at the movie theatre I am up and will post some of my old things. I like calling them old things, like something that I should have discarded but was sentimentally attached to so I kept. Which is exactly what these old things are :). Enjoy

(old things) Untitled

I gotta write
not because i want to but because it is in me
in my blood
ingrained in my soul
etched in my destiny
to use words
to heal
touch
inform
please

I gotta write
because in words I find solace
The finality of the written word.
White it out
try to erase it
burn it
rip it
crumple it and it wont disappear

Words, written, will be and ARE
They are my security
A spoken word is fickle
and tainted
with expression
inflection
emotion.

Verbal intercourse suits those who have no hope for the next instant
and have to squeeze and strain every bit of happiness from the present

The written word is definately my mode of transportation
from one mind to the next

(old things) Untitled

Son of Solomon
wisdom is power

Wife of Ramses
beauty like a flower

Sister to Sparta
make your enemies cower

stand in the shadows
make holiness your tower

Cousin to Isis
bake your bread with leaven

Archimedes Uncle
magic number 7

Mother of Marley
at the table with Jahs bredren

when the world is against you
stand next to heaven!

(old things) "Peopls Opinions"

Peoples opinions,
like tear drops in a well,
just as salty when you taste them
as they were when they fell.

Peoples opinions,
expressed in many ways.
That glance, that evil glance that says,
"This is my opinion: I don't think highly of you, but I'll smile while you try to please me, even though you never do."

Interesting opinions,
they change circumstances
They fuel hells fire
Burn in the form of glances

(Old Things) "Untitled"

Consecrate youself to me
Oh beautiful strain of melody.
Whisper through my willing ear
your lowest thought
your greatest fear
Make your rhythm my heartbeat
and use my soul as your feet.
Take my soul where you will go
I'm sure my mind will follow.
Let my spirit set you free
as you become a part of me.

Sweet song of my own inspiration
Why fly free of imagination?
Let your wisdom cover me
In turn I give my sanity
Why be sane and have no song?
Why sing life if the tune is wrong?
Why let hope drown in silence?

At least there is a chord for violence.

Consecrate youself to me
Oh beautiful strain of melody.
Whisper through my willing ear
your lowest thought
your greatest fear
Make your rhythm my heartbeat
and use my soul as your feet.
Take my soul where you will go
I'm sure my mind will follow.
Let my spirit set you free
as you become a part of me.

Old things

So I haven't written anything new and I think it is because I haven't given due pittance to the old things. Tonight since I consumed a rediculous amount of caffiene at the movie theatre I am up and will post some of my old things. I like calling them old things, like something that I should have discarded but was sentimentally attached to so I kept. Which is exactly what these old things are :). Enjoy