Posted in California, Life, Poetry, Prose

My New Look

My curly brown hair
a statement made,
it did,
parted in the middle
a bit Schizophrenic, but cool
thought I, anyway,

The years passed
taking the curls, and the color
but leaving the look,
just hidden, that is,
now I have whiskers
not like I imagined
but whiskers all the same
not wanting my feelings
to hurt,
others around me,
kind in their treatment
of my whiskers, unruly are they
curling, just not like I like,
beginning the wrong place,
ending even wronger,

My new look
a form of rebellion
the world around me
never known, has
itching at times,
trim them,
I’ve threatened,
loved and admired
be they not,

Whiskers, unruly
my newest form
of cool



Just an American lost in Denmark. The past few weeks being back in the good old USA. It is like Aliens have taken over my mind, changing it from what I knew to what I know. It might be the heat, or it might be the influence of hearing English 24 hours a day, but whatever the cause, it is only temporary while dealing with this time and space.

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