On days that my hair is perfect
I feel like a queen riding atop a stallion
Blazing the fields with my beauty.
The world turns to soft focus
With colours of the sun beaming through and through…
But on most days, my hair is shaggy
Unkempt, dry and frizzy
Like someone let loose
A thousand Medusas upon me.
Talking, whispering, swaying
in the wind, each in its own direction.
Each strand of hair, a living being
Bordering towards transgression.
On days like these, I tie them tight
In a top knot. Just like my mother did.
To keep them in their place.
But slowly they slip out one by one…
The waves cascading over my eyes
Licking my nose, my ears and my neck
Seeking secret appetites…
Should I chop them off yet again?
Will they fall around me with longing then?
I want to be the head that holds them high
And some days, I can…
When they can be shushed into behaving…
But on days they rebel
All hell breaks loose…
The curse of Medusa takes over
‘I will fill you up to the brim with wanting
And each dream will flow out of your hair,
Dare to cut them and lose all your dreams.
Dare to grow and your soul threatens to lay bare…
P.S The day I accept my hair will be the day to freedom 🙂