Hair

It’s the sheet I hide behind
like a tattered security blanket,
The stems and stalks of a jungle
I peer through at my prey,
The lure I dangle, design and set
To draw you into my trap,
The smoke I conjure spells with
When I drag it across your skin,
The thinking rope I twist through my fingers
In some zen-style meditation,
The dead-weight I chop away when angry
So I can face the world head on,
The fountain that sprouts and spills
Flowing over my shoulders once again,
The cloud that flows out around me
When I dip my head under water,
My crown, though I have no glory,
Just a muddy head full of dishwater-blonde.

(I wrote this about a year ago. It's pretty mediocre, but I wanted to post something.)