Racing with scissors

Here I am, Surya’s deep treatment smothered
on my fiery strands 
realizing I’m 
doing 
a type of waiting 
that feels like 
racing 

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Realizing 
We spend a majority of our lives 
doing
just 
this 

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Doing our hair
internet time 
laundry 
work 
taxes 
chores
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Doing 
Doing 
Doing...
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Here I am, realizing, 
That all I’ve wanted 
is to be 
undone 

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Loosened
Unlaced 
Ribbon slit in half 
Not at the end of the race,
but on the damn tracks 

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We’re running 
with ego stripes sharper than scissors 
We base our entire lives on a matter of “do” 

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“What do you do for work?”
“What did you do for New Years?”
“I have to do this before I can do that...”
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“Why am I doing this?”
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Well, it’s almost as if 
we do this 
to escape the fact 
that at times it’s hard to be
and when we do 
We forget the fact 
that we were meant to 
be
No, not in the sappy, “everything happens for a reason” way
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In the 
we were once 
forest roamers
lip cooers 
tree swingers 

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No hair dye 
laundry machines 
desks 
congress
to do list “likes” and “follows”
way
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Now, 
I’m not suggesting 
We lose the jobs and homes 
start beating our chests 
or camouflaging ourselves 
amongst amber colored grass

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But, 
I’m asking,
how can we embody the type of being
that feels like roaring 
without racing? 

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