Beauty of Nature. (condensed 15 min library version)

I have a confession to make...

I love hair.

I mean, I always have...well, permed hair I guess at first. Now I've decided that I really want to know my true roots. I haven't had a relaxer since June and hopefully I will never get one again. I want to renew what I have lost from all those chemicals. I used to have thick and long hair back in high school and I don't believe I appreciated it for what it was, hence the gels and sprays and grease that led to my eventual downfall.

Hair is somewhat equivalent to pride. It builds confidence, gives one compliments, etc. And that doesn't apply to solely the straightened texture. I've realized that natural hair is beautiful (and I can't stop touching my own).

I stopped blow drying my hair back in March. I'd rather lose hair the natural way. I don't own a decent flat iron, so I embrace the mini fro I have on the front of my head.

I hope to do a big chop by the end of the year or whenever I feel comfortable with getting rid of my straight hair.

People want to say that natural hair is harder to handle, but there are plenty of amazing blogs with hair tips and the like, so I'm ready. I'm not one to do much with my hair styling wise, but I want to broaden my horizons.

Maybe I'll start a hair blog of my own...*shrug*

For now, I just want to know the truth...without the creamy crack.

My first blog feature!

Check it out!

http://www.1081creations.com/2009/08/cuffed-by-curiouslovechild.html

It also features music and the like.

Cuffed.

I've never been in handcuffs
But I could feel the cold metal in my dreams:

You on top of me
Each wrist linked
To the other

While the public chanted of our love
A mockery of marriage
A bondage of adoration
That supposedly goes beyond the silver imprints

Past the gold on my ring finger
Pressing into veins
Leaving vulnerable skin underneath
Wet and useless:

A bronze reality
Melted together
To form a union
Less than pure.

And God only sees you
For the wrong you do
Between the clicking cuffs

You don’t think of me
Consistently
Even as I lay over you
Sharing blood beating
Stainless steel

I refuse to appreciate
Your mental freedom
My lack of control sends spasms
Down ring fingers
Leading to tips that can’t touch you
Like I used to

Our friction creating fractioned hearts
In an imprisoned dreamland
Our togetherness creating a distance
Only heartstrings apart.

Overflow: random stream of consciousness thing.

How much will it take for me to overflow? It's enough to make me wonder of what you have to offer. Your talents may be a close match, but will you tend to other habits? With me, you could be lucky, but my conscience may compromise my emotions. I may shiver with the thought of you in summer, but my feet are covered and my heart is used to the temperature. Spike the mercury to your liking, but my heart has had it all. Maybe not you…but maybe it'll be the same. Difference being you dying for attention while I live for space. There is no chase. We sort of fell into each other's existence and thrived. The sun blinds our eyes as we beg for rain to stick to our lips. Moist kisses in bathroom stalls bring us back to the reality of lust.

I'm not a big fan of repetition, but...

Here's one of the poems I did for my project. This is my Black Arts movement poem.

Mr. Man

Tell me when to breathe
And I will learn your beat,
Mr. Man.

I can dance right on your heels
If need be,
Mr. Man.

The crowd must love the chase
Eyes run from you to me,
Me and Mr. Man.

How do they feel,
Mr. Man?

Do they feel sorry for me,
Or do they see my dark skin and laugh,
Mr. Man?

This is my only work.
I have no rights,
Mr. Man

So I speak through my feet
To lift my spirit

No one can take it

Even if you are a Mr.

Master...

I am still a man.