My Mother says that my hair is a phase…
still in the never ending search of finding myself.
She is thick with heavy hands and a mouth full of unnecessary opinions
She tells people
“She had such beautiful hair until she did that”
As if my hair was putting us back in rusted chains.
My kinks and curls are not an embarrassment.
And I make no apology for them.
It reminds her of all that toby and kizzy in our veins.
You just can’t relax away what was already there.
I am finally comfortable in this alabaster skin
that God thought I was strong enough for.
There are bodies swinging in these roots
I am not afraid to hear the crack of the
trees given in to their weight.
I know I have good hair weather I straighten it, keep it nappy or lock it up.
Modern menstrual shows will never
be able to stop this mane from growing.
I am what I always have been.