The Wordsmythe's Weblog…

…On Words, Love and Life

Archive for the month “April, 2014”

Your song

Your song, so haunting

Barefaced emotions it’s flaunting

And though it’s your love I’m wanting

The prospect is too daunting.

 

Your lyrics, they draw me in

Stir up a storm within

Send my heart into a tailspin

Tempt me sore to give in.

 

Your dulcet tones seduce

They call for a truce

Provide the perfect excuse

For my heart to let loose.

 

Your melody tugs at my heartstrings

In that place where heart break stings

From where hope springs

And dreams sprout wings.

 

Now you’ve got me right where you want me

I’m giving in to your desperate plea

Your promises of things that could be

When you and I finally become We.

 

This poem was inspired by Sam Smith’s beautifully haunting song, Latch.

I am tired of this hair, hair, everywhere.

I couldn’t have said it any better. Thanks for taking the words right out of my mouth, Nwuye. Don’t mind if I share.

How to love Igbo things (or what you will).

Maybe I’ve always been a bit blasé about hair because mine grows so easily; I could always switch from natural to permed and back again.  But lately especially, I find myself tiring of the natural versus relaxed hair debate.

I understand all the connotations of having relaxed hair. Believe me, I do. I too have had weave itch, the sort that leaves you slapping your head repeatedly in public, with no thoughts whatsoever as to how mad you look.  No care either. Nothing but the desire to scratch that unreachable, infuriating, itch.  The near soporific effects of scratching it cannot be matched by anything in this world.

I have suffered the sores that come from digging too deeply with a pen or other handy pointy object under dandruff and sweat encrusted wefts. I have had my hair fall out from too much relaxing and traction from braids. It was not…

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