Darling, do you ever tire of all these crazy messages
Don't you ever stop to look in the mirror and reread those passages
Each word's got a life of its own
Claiming they're your friends and then they leave you alone
And I can't bear to see you cry
Your hair can be a mess of delusional shades
Ripped up follicles, greased up strands, and wound up bundles
Licking its lips are corrupted minds of deceptive media moguls
Any way they can use you, abuse you, and rape you of your wisdom
Is the best way to succeed in making money for their pride
Redefining beauty as a twist, a twirl, a bath in delicate oils and gels
Has anyone forgotten how to see with their own eyes
Your eyes can be two windows stained by disaster
Elongated lashes, discoloured shadows, juxtaposed bruises
Venting steamy, hot lines that say ';Come Hither!'; to any manly wolf
Big or small, wide or narrow, does it really ever matter
What the significant shape of your spiritual binoculars lenses are
If they're made in the shape of kindness, aren't they already striking
If you want to look beautiful darling, start with your hair
Your skin can be a blanket, worn by time and full of holes
Lining your lips, through your belly-button, ears and your fragile nose
Metal swords of accepting armies rage war with nature's philosophy
Lips lubricated in faded gloss, nails painted in seductive hues
Back and bottom, covered in pictures of two skulls and a bright red rose
Body scaled back to a stick bug that's waiting to be crushed beneath trampling feet
And silicon breasts that stick out like two signs advertising for intellectual porn magazines
If you want to look beautiful darling, start with your hair
And you think of molesting your own body all because
Someone criticized your hair
Your hair, which flows down to your shoulders and a little beyond
It weeps, it begs for life, it tickles my face, and it caresses your aching head
It sparkles in the moonlight, in the morning and evening starlight
It runs over your head like water over rocks in a burbling brook
It clothes your ears so they won't shiver in the cold
It covers your face in a charming summer breeze
And when I draw it back from your eyes
It reveals a smile, the one that I kiss softly
Your hair is too beautiful for a contemporary complexion
Your eyes are too shiny to be stained by shadowy grease
Your skin is too delicate to be poked at or prodded
Your nails remind me of marble dance floors we still waltz across
Your body mustn't be decorated for a pimp's Saturday night party
You are beautiful, just the way you are
Who needs hair dye or lip-gloss or piercings or tattoos
Who needs to wither themselves away in sweaty weight rooms
Who needs to stick out like sore prosthetic thumbs
You are beautiful now, darling
No future aspirations could make you look prettier
Or cuter for that matter
If you want to look beautiful, start with your hair
Let it be, let it be, let it be
We've talked the whole night
Can you even believe
This whole conversation started with you
Wanting to dye your hair
______________________________________鈥?br>
Basically, the message is...
';If you listen to the whims of society every time they disapprove of you, it starts with one little change, then another, then another.';
If you have followed my poetry in the past, this one may be a bit more blunt than previous works.Poem I wrote: Thoughts? (Man speaking to woman)?
I loved the message portrayed in this poem and I agree with it wholeheartedly. However, at times, I did loose focus and kinda felt like I was being lectured at; at first I even thought that the narrator might have been telling her to wash her hair, but I like to think otherwise - that he wants her to be natural and free. To love what natural, God-given beauty has been bestowed upon her. For that, truly, is the most beautiful of all.
I laughed when I read the last stanza. Cute.Poem I wrote: Thoughts? (Man speaking to woman)?
Ok
I will be blunt
I got halfway through it and felt like I was getting a lecture.
wow.. you said blunt too.. ok
we are on the same wavelength but this is not really interesting .. It lost me and I could not continue.. a good poem should hold your reader hostage.
Have a Star !
Sometimes a Wannabe needs a lecture..:)
Whoever she is... wrap this piece
inside a box of Bon Bons
and place it in her locker.
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