Flypaper

i’ve never had a man
who has not told me
how stuck he is in my hair.
like its a web
like they’re ropes.

they grab it and smooth it and touch it
it’s wild, my hair.
they try to control it.

but you, you read it-
like you read the rest of me-
you see me brush it back and know i love the book i’m reading.
you watch me tie it back, and know i’m feeling frustrated.

and you tell me that you love how i smile with my eyes.

i don’t like when you’re away.
i have no one here to know me
(because i hardly know myself)