blackhair
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Miladys,
For all my springs, I was a lion
With kinks and knots in my hair
"Your hair's too tough to comb!
I remember when the sun soared high over the green grass of my lawn
I remember sitting, pondering
why was I so different
I sat in my chair, slouched
I am not a slave to my looks therefore I am not a slave to my hair. Next time you say,
Girl!
You will never get a man with that hair.
We press it, cut it, blow it out, and pin it up
We change our texture because it’s not desirable
We dye it as the trends change
And we die a little more ourselves each time
