I shouldn’t.
But I want to.
But I CAN’T.
But I realllllly want to.
The braid dangles in front of me like a tantalizing piece of rope that could get me in huge trouble, yet make me satisfied.
I reach my decision, reach across the desk, clasp my hand around it and….
YANK
He looked at her braid hanging down her back. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was captivating him. He didn’t know why. He felt he should look away, but couldn’t.
the innocent thoughts
trials of guilty impulses
and want to do more than just be me
they braid together to form this little enigma,
me
funny how they are so off step but in tune with each other
they clash so much, keeps my mind interesting
yet so in rhythm with each other i can’t help but listen
The little girl’s braids flew through the wind of the lazy Oklahoma summer. Her parents were dead, and she now lived in a treehouse in the backyard. Her dog was the only thing that she had left, and even Hubert was growing old and weary. Everyday for lunch she would sit out in the meadow and eat dandelions.
I like to braid hair. There are many ways to do this, but i prefer the three sectioned one. Sadly, my friend has no idea how to braid hair, and gets insanely angry that she doesn’t. To use this to my advantage, I try to braid my hair as much as possible around her. This works, and she makes fun of me.
Sometimes she sits, twirling strands in her fingers. Running a hand through what used to be long, blonde locks of hair. Well, brown’s a pretty nice color too. Suits you, he says and his breath tickles her ear.
The two of them sitting at the table together, braiding bracelets of yarn and beads
I love watching them together and daydreaming of what it will be like when she gets older and they are sitting there together at the same table
She sat in front of me while I tried to braid her hair. I don’t remember this being so difficult, I said to myself. It was so much easier to do it on my own head as a little girl. This was a whole new beast….
When I was 6 my mom would braid my brown hair every morning, tying the ends with yarn bows. That was fine until 4th grade, when Catherine came to my school. She had ribbons. And at her birthday party, each girl was given ribbons, grosgrain stripes like candy, and I thought I was rich.
I can’t braid my hair because it’s too short. It’s makes me a sad Brynn. I couldn’t braid for an immensely long time, like, until I was 11. Yeah, I think braids are pretty great. Can’t wait till I can do it again.
The hipster thing to do. I think of Toms; of Tom; of Axe Excite. I’m an angel falling, an innocent daisy chain woven into the tight braids of anti-aging.
My hair is pulled tightly as my friends play with it. They twist and twirl until they are satisfied with how it looks. It turns out using three columns of my hair, you get a braid.
Her swing flew through the air
without out a care, she
was on top of the world
Her bib overalls,
her long braid tied with a ribbon,
and her blue eyes still glisening with
hope and adventure.
Not a care
on this young, summer day.
i never knew how to braid until i was 14 i was such a losser at school. I remember the first time i did it was when my friend came over and taught me how to do all these amazing different kinds of braids. There are several of them hanging aroung my room now. They are there to remind me that youre never too old to lea
I only braid my hair sometimes. It’s usually to make it curly the next day. I’ll spend a good 10 minutes pulling it into tight cornrows, to try and coax some volume into my usually lifeless locks. I like when my hair is curly; it makes me feel sexy, like a real woman. It’s funny that that lifeless, staid braid can turn hair into such a sexual object.
When I was a little girl I used to wear my hair in a braid. I loved the way that it would be crimped in the morning if I braided it before I went to bed at night. I always thought it was exciting to undo the braid in the morning, and see the pattern that had been left in my hair. Oh, childhood. i miss you. so much.
Learning to braid hair as a child was a bonding experience. My mother would talk to me for so long while braiding mine. After learning to braid friends hair it became a bonding experience with them.
Braided together, we’ve been so close for so long that I don’t think he even noticed when I turned and began walking the other direction. I’m pointed towards the sunrise now, headed east and north, and up and to better things in the future.
This word brings to mind a night in our old dorm when the family was just hanging out watching TV. R tried to braid my hair and he actually succeeded in making a nice, tight one. I’m not sure if he was going for the cornrows things, but D admired his skill.
i used to have my friend kahshanna french braid my hair. i heard that braiding ones hair helps it grow. it’s not the actual braiding but the touching and nurturing of the hair that create the follicle stimulus and eventually coerce the hair into growing. i had forgotten that my aunt actually learned to french braid hair by doing it to mine. it’s also when i found out that i had a grey hair.
Braid. How you oh-so carefully braided my hair. How I knew I had nothing to worry about. How I DIDN’T have anything to worry about. But what happened? You don’t braid my hair anymore. And I know why. I grew up, and when you offer to braid my hair, I don’t let you. Because, I don’t love you anymore. Not like how I used to.
Something tickled Jensen’s nose and as he cracked open his eyes he saw a landscape of sand skewed sideways and in the middle of it dangled a red, white and blue braid.
for a minute while i waited for the word to appear it felt like fate. like all of this pain is for a reason and, in the end, ill be stronger and happier and ill be right where i belong. not wondering what could’ve been or having turned into a bitter, cold, haunted, faithless, dried up excuse of a human being. like this all is for a purpose and we meet because its destiny and we are delicately intertwined and after all is said and done the pieces will add up to a whole. that would be nice. but i know, divine or otherwise, im in control and thats not the way things are and i dont know what to do to make this better .
The braid fell down her back in front of me, brown and shiny. I leaned forward, my hand poised to pull it, but hesitating. I didn’t want to get in trouble. She nodded at her friend, the braid swinging. No one was looking. I smiled and moved closer, my fingers touching it.
I had to learn to braid my daughters hair even tho I had been to beauty school. It was fun to do their hair even tho I had dreaded that service when I worked as a beautician. Probably because I didn’t know. Now the girls are all grown up
Yesterday Liz asked if she could fishtail braid my hair. I told her it wouldn’t work because my hair is too thin and uneven, but she could try anyway if she wanted to. Liz tried and failed.
Twisting sections, one by one,
Holding it together, a second done,
Letting it go, watching it fall,
All your work, gone in a nall.
I shouldn’t.
But I want to.
But I CAN’T.
But I realllllly want to.
The braid dangles in front of me like a tantalizing piece of rope that could get me in huge trouble, yet make me satisfied.
I reach my decision, reach across the desk, clasp my hand around it and….
YANK
He looked at her braid hanging down her back. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was captivating him. He didn’t know why. He felt he should look away, but couldn’t.
the innocent thoughts
trials of guilty impulses
and want to do more than just be me
they braid together to form this little enigma,
me
funny how they are so off step but in tune with each other
they clash so much, keeps my mind interesting
yet so in rhythm with each other i can’t help but listen
The little girl’s braids flew through the wind of the lazy Oklahoma summer. Her parents were dead, and she now lived in a treehouse in the backyard. Her dog was the only thing that she had left, and even Hubert was growing old and weary. Everyday for lunch she would sit out in the meadow and eat dandelions.
braid my hair
and make it nice
you make it nice
and make it clean
make it clean
and make it good
make it smell like strawberries
strawberries are in this year
I like to braid hair. There are many ways to do this, but i prefer the three sectioned one. Sadly, my friend has no idea how to braid hair, and gets insanely angry that she doesn’t. To use this to my advantage, I try to braid my hair as much as possible around her. This works, and she makes fun of me.
Sometimes she sits, twirling strands in her fingers. Running a hand through what used to be long, blonde locks of hair. Well, brown’s a pretty nice color too. Suits you, he says and his breath tickles her ear.
Laura wanted to braid my hair once…. it was awkward….
wow fishtail. winding barets. this is gorgeous. simplicity as its finest. ancient greece, indians.
The two of them sitting at the table together, braiding bracelets of yarn and beads
I love watching them together and daydreaming of what it will be like when she gets older and they are sitting there together at the same table
She sat in front of me while I tried to braid her hair. I don’t remember this being so difficult, I said to myself. It was so much easier to do it on my own head as a little girl. This was a whole new beast….
When I was 6 my mom would braid my brown hair every morning, tying the ends with yarn bows. That was fine until 4th grade, when Catherine came to my school. She had ribbons. And at her birthday party, each girl was given ribbons, grosgrain stripes like candy, and I thought I was rich.
I can’t braid my hair because it’s too short. It’s makes me a sad Brynn. I couldn’t braid for an immensely long time, like, until I was 11. Yeah, I think braids are pretty great. Can’t wait till I can do it again.
The hipster thing to do. I think of Toms; of Tom; of Axe Excite. I’m an angel falling, an innocent daisy chain woven into the tight braids of anti-aging.
I braid my hair with sharp
stems that ignited the pain
of your presence in the
first place.
Braiding is clearly not my thing.
If it were, then I would describe it
as something more empowering
and meaningful.
Braiding hair is self-empowerment.
To be completed by someone else,
other than me.
The first time I learned how to braid (at the age of 5.. i think) made me feel like a real woman.
I be awesome.
My hair is pulled tightly as my friends play with it. They twist and twirl until they are satisfied with how it looks. It turns out using three columns of my hair, you get a braid.
I carefully braided my hair. No matter how careful I was it always came out messy.
Her swing flew through the air
without out a care, she
was on top of the world
Her bib overalls,
her long braid tied with a ribbon,
and her blue eyes still glisening with
hope and adventure.
Not a care
on this young, summer day.
i never knew how to braid until i was 14 i was such a losser at school. I remember the first time i did it was when my friend came over and taught me how to do all these amazing different kinds of braids. There are several of them hanging aroung my room now. They are there to remind me that youre never too old to lea
I only braid my hair sometimes. It’s usually to make it curly the next day. I’ll spend a good 10 minutes pulling it into tight cornrows, to try and coax some volume into my usually lifeless locks. I like when my hair is curly; it makes me feel sexy, like a real woman. It’s funny that that lifeless, staid braid can turn hair into such a sexual object.
When I was a little girl I used to wear my hair in a braid. I loved the way that it would be crimped in the morning if I braided it before I went to bed at night. I always thought it was exciting to undo the braid in the morning, and see the pattern that had been left in my hair. Oh, childhood. i miss you. so much.
Learning to braid hair as a child was a bonding experience. My mother would talk to me for so long while braiding mine. After learning to braid friends hair it became a bonding experience with them.
Braided together, we’ve been so close for so long that I don’t think he even noticed when I turned and began walking the other direction. I’m pointed towards the sunrise now, headed east and north, and up and to better things in the future.
She finished doing up her braid with a flourish and sat down beside him on the wall.
“Up to your old tricks again, Stewart?” When she laughed, her eyes crinkled pleasantly.
I didn’t know how to answer her.
“I’m… just sitting here.” I said.
“Like a bump on a log,” she mused, and put her head rather disarmingly on my shoulder.
braid
i like the braid your hair. its so long and and so good to braid. i love to braid your hair.
its sexy and cute when its in a braid.
This word brings to mind a night in our old dorm when the family was just hanging out watching TV. R tried to braid my hair and he actually succeeded in making a nice, tight one. I’m not sure if he was going for the cornrows things, but D admired his skill.
the golden bird, stuffed,the girl who became a , woman, dog,and her husband,said rapundsal and turned into a fish.
i used to have my friend kahshanna french braid my hair. i heard that braiding ones hair helps it grow. it’s not the actual braiding but the touching and nurturing of the hair that create the follicle stimulus and eventually coerce the hair into growing. i had forgotten that my aunt actually learned to french braid hair by doing it to mine. it’s also when i found out that i had a grey hair.
If music sounds unfamiliar going backwards, is that merely musical styles we have yet to create? There’s a lot to be learned from playing with time.
Braid. How you oh-so carefully braided my hair. How I knew I had nothing to worry about. How I DIDN’T have anything to worry about. But what happened? You don’t braid my hair anymore. And I know why. I grew up, and when you offer to braid my hair, I don’t let you. Because, I don’t love you anymore. Not like how I used to.
long winding braid. swishes on my neck. my head feels as though its crowned. with a crown 2 feet long. its preetyy
Something tickled Jensen’s nose and as he cracked open his eyes he saw a landscape of sand skewed sideways and in the middle of it dangled a red, white and blue braid.
“Oh Jesus on a crutch,” he moaned.
long hair that is systimatically placed to look interesting. helps control unruly hair. unless you have layers. sometimes they look really ugly. o
for a minute while i waited for the word to appear it felt like fate. like all of this pain is for a reason and, in the end, ill be stronger and happier and ill be right where i belong. not wondering what could’ve been or having turned into a bitter, cold, haunted, faithless, dried up excuse of a human being. like this all is for a purpose and we meet because its destiny and we are delicately intertwined and after all is said and done the pieces will add up to a whole. that would be nice. but i know, divine or otherwise, im in control and thats not the way things are and i dont know what to do to make this better .
The braid fell down her back in front of me, brown and shiny. I leaned forward, my hand poised to pull it, but hesitating. I didn’t want to get in trouble. She nodded at her friend, the braid swinging. No one was looking. I smiled and moved closer, my fingers touching it.
My daughters smiled across the room right into my arms. Their little braids at four o’clock the whole way.
I had to learn to braid my daughters hair even tho I had been to beauty school. It was fun to do their hair even tho I had dreaded that service when I worked as a beautician. Probably because I didn’t know. Now the girls are all grown up
Yesterday Liz asked if she could fishtail braid my hair. I told her it wouldn’t work because my hair is too thin and uneven, but she could try anyway if she wanted to. Liz tried and failed.