Poetry by Farah Lawal Harris

My Hair Is


my hair is amorphous,
without form, rhyme, or reason.
my hair hates politics–
she’s been duped one too many times by extremists
so now she’s independent–
tickling my back when she feels like it;
exposing my scalp to sun and air when summer hits;
kinky and free,
straight and demure,
curly and flirty,
she is me.

and i wish someone would dare tell me or her how to be!

my hair is expression,
escaping when i can’t.
and i love that.

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One response

  1. Such spirit in these lines…very enjoyable.

    March 28, 2011 at 11:08 am

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