Curls

It makes me sad when people make fun of black girl’s curls
Because that’s all I ever wanted.
My hair is curly too, but not curly enough to be cool
or flat enough to be normal or white people hair.
It’s not thick, dense, beautiful.
My curls are blah
and they sit there, 
dull and brown,
no matter what hair products I use.
All I ever wanted growing up were tight curls like my friend Morgan.
Morgan’s curls could fit around a size-2 knitting needle,
they caught the light and gave her a halo,
they were beautiful in a way I couldn’t imagine.
Like all of the girls on my hair product bottles
with their perfect skin and their eyeliner sharp enough to cut through solid rock,
her hair framed her hair in a sphere more beautiful and perfect than I could ever hope to achieve with my hair,
washed-up 80s-style curls.
I was so jealous those beautiful curls.
So in middle school 
when the girls started relaxing their hair
I couldn’t comprehend why.
They had perfection,
the epitome of what I considered beauty.
And they gave it away, and it made me sad.
But it made them happy,
so I never asked why.
When I logged onto tumblr for the first time,
and saw that little black girls were being made fun of because of their hair,
I saw red.
Because how DARE anyone make fun of anyone for something so
perfect,
beautiful.
And I’m still confused because all i want are 4B curls,
beautiful
dense,
amazing curls
that defy gravity.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

Comments

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression. Always let poetry fill your life. Keep expressing your heart.  

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