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“His mind had patterns, patterns that made puzzles, and puzzles that became mazes. Those mazes had color and became labyrinths— labyrinths that went crazy like jungles— and all he could trust me with was letting my fingers get lost in his curls. I played in there, for years trapped in his hair (that overthought and provoked lair)— the only thing between my thoughts and his: the air. But, he was smart not to trust me enough. He knew. The open air looked at him with slight eyes, issued him binds of lies, like library cards ...full of fiction. And I knew this, so how could I forget? Along the way, I turned into every other female he ever loved. It was his destiny that gave me permission to pull his hair again.” — Heather Angelika Dooley
His mind had patterns,
patterns that made puzzles,
and puzzles that became mazes.
Those mazes had color and became
labyrinths—
labyrinths that went crazy like
jungles—
and all he could trust me with
was letting my fingers get lost
in his curls.
I played in there,
for years trapped in his hair
(that overthought and provoked lair)—
the only thing between my thoughts
and his:
the air.
But, he was smart
not to trust me enough.
He knew.
The open air looked at him with slight eyes, issued him binds of lies,
like library cards
...full of fiction.
And I knew this, so how could I forget?
Along the way,
I turned into every other female
he ever loved.
It was his destiny
that gave me permission
to pull his hair again.