Is It The Hair?

Is It The Hair

That makes you stare

at me upon the stairs?

Is it the elbow that I give you

in the side forcing you to

suck in a breath that makes

fools of us both?

Would you care if there

was more hair?

Does the violence

matter anymore?

I can see you bleeding and broken.

What words will be spoken

afterwards?

What cares worn?

Whose hair shorn?

Will you walk as naked as the day

and discreetly forewarn

those who suffer in silence

and witness the violence

of our modern society?

Such bravery, such discretion

Airforce One will bomb you

off the planets face so that

you will not see all that glory you seek.

(So you will instead hide) And meekly hide your pride.

Isn’t it a fact that where it’s at is forbidden territory

lest you step on a landmine and set off a cluster bomb

killing four innocent families?

Is it for the torn, the lost and forgotten that

you will wear your hair long?

 

A poem questioning dumbfucks,  hair and violence and destruction in society. :o (Eek) Waaaah! OK! I’m touching a nerve.La la la la Oh no I’m standing on my own toes. This is not about Islamaphobia but I did think about how Muslim women have to keep their hair covered but couldn’t steer the poem, That is the poem did NOT WANT to include that. Maybe another time.CURSE YOU!
Thanks for reading.:D (Big Grin)

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