Locked off (Dear Locks)

Locked off (Dear Locks…)

Proceeding with one two three,
Into darkness of uncertainties…

Dear Locks,

You will be dearly missed
Cutting you off was the last thing
I would ever do.
What you meant to me…
Where do I begin.

Since I was seven,
I wanted long hair
My Mother said no
To cornrows, funky dreads
And anything over an inch!
I used to flinch
At going to the barbers
Thinking they were
Cutting a life form away,
Apart of me alive

So
I celebrated my manhood and freedom
and grew my locks,
You reminded me
Of small little maggots to begin with,
Comb twist.

Months grew into years
And you were already shoulder length.
Thick brown and beautiful:
A symbol of strength, determination and
Perseverance.

This look I had was so unique,
apart of me,
I deemed it unimaginable to be parted away from you.
You were like my first and everlasting true love
Because you helped me identify, myself.
You were there through thick and thin.
Only to realise it was only for a season
Where uniqueness is truly and always,
Residing in the heart.

But it’s hard:
As I watched
The blades embraced
And cut you into two, apart.
I can hear you screaming,
Colour-blind as though I were
Watching a black and white film
Day dreaming a nightmare.

Then a humming bird
Whispered in my left ear
‘I am not my hair’, (India Aries)
Making my heart break the day like the sunshine.
So removing you would be like moving the clouds away
Yet I would still like it to rain.


Were we secret lovers having an affair in broad day light?
Tell me, we are not breaking away
Yet, its so evident that we have grown apart.
Proceeding with four, five, six, seven, eight
Its too late,
As you fall like duck feather on the floor.

Self reflection.
Of embracing the new,
Staring like a child unsure
Of what to do.
Dark brown nappy fluff
Candy floss
Exploring the lightness

A new look and freedom.
Cold sharp slick razor
Glides smoothly across
The Atlas of my head
Sheering away the wheats
To reveal dry ground.

A new look and freedom.
What an exploration,
The Liberation.
Of not being caged
Into an appearance
But a living soul,
A fresh wind beautifully packaged within.


Shaun Gordon aka Donusho
07/08/2010 ©