Oh how I would beg

for the creamy crack

that would relax

the kinky strands that stand

on my head,

How I would long

for hair like a princess

waist length and pin straight,

How I would suffer for hours

flat iron in hand

attempting to achieve

what society perceives


How I would check a mirror

every five minutes

If I was outside in high humidity,

How I would avoid pools

and other bodies of water

as if they were bad for my health.

That version of me,

eight years old and crying

at the salon because my hair was curly

and mommy wouldn’t let me fix it,

She was persuaded that what she was born with

was not good enough.

I look back on the moments

with a tear in my eye.

I still have not completely recovered

I still distinguish

between good hair

and bad hair

and it isn’t fair

to me or those I judge

but I can’t help it

I’ve been brainwashed

so deeply and for so long

my thoughts are lost and I have to fight to

get them right


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