Stripes sharp as scissors
Here I am, Surya’s deep treatment smothered
on my fiery strands
realizing I’m
doing
a type of waiting
that feels like
racing
.
Realizing
we spend a majority of our lives
doing
just
this
.
Doing our hair
Insta posts
laundry
work
taxes
chores
.
Doing
Doing
Doing…
.
Here I am, realizing,
That all I’ve wanted
is to be
undone
.
Loosened
unlaced
ribbon slit in half
not at the end of the race,
but on the damn tracks
.
We’re running
with ego stripes sharper than scissors
we base our entire lives on a matter of
“do”
.
“What do you do for work?”
“What did you do for New Years?”
“I have to do this before I can do that…”
.
“Why am I doing this?”
.
Well, it’s almost as if
we do this
to escape the fact
that at times it’s hard to be
and when we do
We forget the fact
that we were meant to
be
No, not in the sappy,
“everything happens for a reason”
way
.
In the
we were once
forest roamers
lip cooers
tree swingers
.
No hair dye
laundry machines
desks
congress
to do list
“likes” and “follows”
way
.
Now,
I’m not suggesting
We lose the jobs and homes
start beating our chests
or camouflaging ourselves
amongst amber colored grass
.
But,
I’m asking,
how can we embody the type of being
that feels like roaring
without racing?
