Embrace

Fri, 01/20/2017 - 01:36 -- MParry

My sister trundles by.

“Mornin’.”

She turns the faucet,

Turns her hands over and over in the sink,

Glances up at the mirror, splattered with droplets of toothpaste and soap.

“Ugh, bedhead, am I right?”

 

As if.

 

Her auburn locks brush past her shoulders in easy strokes,

Silky and put-together as ever.

Beside her, I burn my hair into submission.

I pinch and pull with hot plates,

Careful not to burn my temple,

But freely scorching my unruly ringlets.

 

There is power in simplicity.

Poise.

Presence.

And here I am again,

The butt of the blonde joke.

The fluff-brain with fluff bouncing along behind her.

The happy-go-lucky one who cares about nothing but the next party.

The mess who has no idea what she’s doing.

It’s not becoming.

It’s not professional.

It’s not who I want people to think I am.

It’s not who I am, period.

 

But spending twenty valuable minutes,

Every single morning,

Minutes I could be spending wisely?

Spending my finite time

Branding my hair with my insecurities,

Praying that a hat will be enough to keep off the rain?

Is that not sillier?

 

I tied the pepto-bismol pink straighter up in its cord

And banished the bound alligator jaws to their drawer.

My screen glowed faintly,

Barely daring to light up in the dark hours of the evening.

“How to take care of curly hair”

“What is my hair type?”

“Curly hair styles”

“Sulfate-free drugstore shampoo”

 

I can’t make my hair say exactly what I want it to say about me.

I can make it say something else.

“I value efficiency.”

“I do put effort into presenting myself.”

“This is my power suit.”

“This can be ‘boss-status’ too.”

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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