On the Train next to the woman in orange.

Inspired by my friend Cerridwen, who has been bravely charting her search for rhythm in the world of writing, I am trying to post poems that I haven’t spent my time coddling.  This is terrifying, but liberating.  Let the poems go out into the world.  Check her out: http://cerridwenelektra.wordpress.com

Some women are so put together

that I can’t help but return

to the fourth grade

When my hair was too thick

To be worn straight down

and too unruly to be braided without

a halo of fuzz surrounding

my nine year old head

Then, as now, I wore what I wanted

And then, as now, some people’s

put-togetherness

Makes me regret

being me.