Bondage of My Mane

Slender, manipulative fingers
weave through the tresses,
gathering each escapee;
lacing them
into their tense,
terse prison.

The hostages yearn for freedom,
yet the taut straps
keep them confined.

Guarded.
Forced to conform.
Tightly secured.

pleas for liberty

A temporary pardon is granted.

When the bands are released
from my plaits,
I let my consoling fingers
disentangle
and mingle
with my untied locks.

Unbound.
Unbraided.

Free at last!

When I was a little girl, my mother used to braid my hair so tightly. I couldn't wait until I could remove the bands and rub my sore head.

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