When I was young mommy wasn’t around to tend to me. They said your hair is your crown, its your glory. You gotta keep it tamed and down. You not gone look like no chicken here with me running around.
My Aunt would pull and tug it, iron and press it, but always a mess it was. I swear the way she burned me and left braid bumps there was no love.
As I grew my hair didnt, In school they’d laugh and call me nappy ensuring none of my existence was happy. They’d shame me until I had to have it. A relaxer did improve my look I’ll admit.
Straight silky hair, I was now in there. So I thought, but their focus on another part of me is what it bought.
That relaxer burned my hair, scalp, and edges out! Oh no what am I to do, wear a wig, cap, I’m losing not gaining clout.
They will really laugh and pick now. I better change it up create my own look. I went natural and rocked me a fro. At fourteen they called me the new Grace Jones.
Nothing I do will please them, ease them from laughing at my crown. It will never be a thing of beauty for their eyes to see.
So what my hair belongs to me. It’s my head, my covering, my crown and glory. I’m happy nappy naturally ME! My locs don’t define me. I’m tough patient and kind. My locs are an extension of mine.
Like the leaves on the tree, my locs send and receive. Winter time they warm me. I grow them long and wild, because I’m free child.
No longer bound by your views of me after your comparing my hair to wigs you see on TV. My hair? It’s healthy and strong. Wether it’s short, medium or long. It is my hair I do with it what I want, I’m grown.
