How long can it go?

I made a recent twitter comment about the kookie things my natural hair was doing to me in public the other day, to the amusement of my fellow Twitter-OTers. (Mission accomplished.)  That led to more silliness and a not-unusual question for ppl who only know each other online of "how long is your hair anyway?"

This shouldn't be a hard question to answer.  I mean, it's hair.  It's this long or that long. Except...well...my hair is kinky-curly.

What does that mean? It means my hair curls so tightly more than half their length is in deep hiding. I'm telling you there are people in witness protection who wish they were hidden as well as the true length of my hair.

To illustrate, here is a picture of my hair taken a few minutes ago.  I've been wearing it in this style nearly all week (except today when I had it up in a little afro-puff).  It's pulled back about 2-3" from my hairline by a very tight headband.

And here's a picture of my hair taken a few minutes later (please excuse my computer glove).  The only difference is that I've randomly chosen a curl, and pulled it out as far as it could comfortably go.  If you could see detail, you'd see that the hair still isn't straight.  If it had been chemically relaxed or otherwise straightened, it'd be even longer!

So how long is my hair?  Eh, it depends...

The Coming Storm

I wrote this last week on the way back to my office from a trying meeting which was part of a trying day.  How trying was it?  By the time I was within sight of my office, I was all but chanting the end-scene to myself.  Hope you enjoy.

“Are you saying that I have to walk on eggshells until you feel better?”

“No, of course not. You shouldn’t have to figure wonder at every word you say, whether or not they’ll piss me off or…” She stopped and, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, first shook her head then nodded. “Yes, that is what I’m saying,” she told her reflection.

“What? That isn’t fair.”

“You said that already. And why isn’t it fair? You hurt me. You offended me. I’m the injured party, and you’re the injurer. It’s not the other way around,” she said, still talking through the mirror. “I think I’m being more than fair by telling you that I need a few days to get over this, instead of snapping at you for no apparent reason, or tucking this down somewhere in my back pocket to pull out the next time we have an argument and I want to get back at you. Leave me alone or be real careful for the next couple of days…I don’t think that’s too much to ask,” she said, nodding to herself. “I’ll get over this, put it behind me and it’ll be over. I’ll never bring it up again,” she added with a shrug, self-aware enough to know that she was being truthful.

“I can’t believe you’re being like this. I apologized--”

“You did.”

“--and you refuse to accept it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. Not that you’ve ever appeared to be really apologetic, laughing and joking about something that obviously upset me, but I accepted your apology when you made it. Doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt. And accepting your apology doesn’t mean I have to be your new best friend.”

“…I still say that’s not fair.”

She shrugged. “Say what you want. Just thought you deserved fair warning so you didn’t try to blame my ‘attitude’ on grumpiness or some other…excuse. It’s you.”

“What, so I should go hide?”

Turning around, she said, “If you want. Hide. Take shelter. Send up an alarm. Yes, do. Because I am the storm on the ocean, and I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to gather my strength to break on your shores or dissipate over the water.” She strode out of the bathroom, stride long and tightly controlled, without another word.

-Fin-

 

NaPoWriMo's over, but I'm still writing poetry

I've actually written poetry since I was in 7th grade.  I can even tell you when I first, deliberately wrote a poem that was meaningful to me.  It was during Science class...  Anywho, as I've gotten older and busier, and as my writing tastes/priorities have changed, I've been a much less prolific poet than I was as a kid, but I never did quite stop.

It always makes me sad to hear others say that they have.  Unlike other writer-y things, for me poetry has never a hobby or a life-goal or any of those things that you can pick up, put down, or change into something else.  For me, poetry was, and is, more than what I did it was, and is, who I am.  I am a poet.  I don't know if I've always been a poet, but the moment I picked up that pen (it was Science class after all...pens!) and scribbled off that first angry/hurt/confused non-rhyming verse to and about my friends (see! all these years I've been consistent), a door opened in me that can't be shut again.  I may walk past the room in which all my poetry hides, but I can't brick it up.  I can pretend it's not there.  It will come bursting out of me to be doodled on corners of notes, written on the palms of my hands, or repeated like a mantra in my head until I can get it out of me.

This must be how a dancer feels, or a painter feels.  They can't not dance.  They can't not paint.  It is as much them as it is in them.  Assuredly, I've gone long stretches without writing a single verse, rhyming or otherwise, but that doesn't mean they weren't bubbling and bouncing around in my head.  I've been more likely to quit writing than I ever was to quit poetry.

What's your thing?  Everyone's got something they're just drawn to, right?

And since this discourse was not the point of my post, here are the two, very brief, poems that I intended to share when I sat down, under the cut.  If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you've already seen them:

And then there was fanfiction...

I'll admit it, this particular story **cough!fanfic!cough**  was heavily inspired by a well-known k-drama.  They are my minor obsession after all...  Anywho, I'm hoping that you can still enjoy the story, and figure out what's going on, even if you've never seen this particular series.  If you have seen it...well I hope I haven't completely offended you with the AU-ness of this story (in my head it's the beginning of a reworking of the series, but I am personally satisfied if this is as far as it gets).  One of my drama-aunties highly recommended this particular show to me, and I can't thank her enough.

Since this is nigh unto fanfiction, here is a lengthier version of my standard fanfic disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters, places or plots are mine; no profit is made from their use; and if you want to look at this philosophically, not even the words are mine, although I will claim the plot--for good or ill.  

Enjoy!

NaPoWriMo (30/30)

It's the last day of NaPoWriMo! (And possibly the last day for a while that I'll be posting, knowing me ;)  It's been interesting, and very cathartic--as you all now know--and at times very difficult.  I am reminded of what I knew all along, that my personal, non-fiction writing tends to happen when I'm unhappy or deeply inspired by something.  As a generally happy person, this means I have bouts of intense writing, followed by long dry spells.  Not so with NaPoWriMo!

The one thing that I haven't written all month, but totally love, is nonsense poetry.  I find it really hard to start, and so rarely do them but I love nonsense poetry all the same.  So here's my one and only nonsense poem, full of personal fangirlish name dropping, to close out the month after the jump. 

NaPoWriMo (29/30)

4/29/13 4:35pm

I feel like
I've been cut open by a mugger
but surely this is surgery

Then why am I still bleeding
Why does the wound still ache and seep
every time I come near it

Where is my closure?
Where I'd the Person to come and sew me back up?
I had some needle and thread
but I hardly know where to begin

If Someone will draw me a diagram
I would gladly follow it
Or is the diagram right there
and my stubborn eyes refuse to read it?

I don't know
but in weary from
holding myself together by my fingertips
and coming apart every time I dare to let go

Or maybe
maybe I'm still in surgery
just promise me that there will be an end

NaPoWriMo (28/30)

There were two poems for tonight, but the second didn't quite want to end so I'm still working on it.

4/28/13 doing laundry on a Sunday evening

why should i walk when I. Can.  RUN!
why is tallness = to slowness
i am low to the ground
and i never crawl
(and when i do crawl, i do it fast fast fast!)

there are springs in my knees!
and springs in my feet!
when i move i've got to move quick
there are springs in my feet!
there is excitement in my chest
bursting to get free

and if i jump jump run run
twist shout and scream
maybe that'll get it out of me
maybe this time you'll hear the song the body sings
and join me