My mother always said that you can judge someone’s life by looking at their hair

If it’s sticky and untamed

They’re dirty

If it’s slicked neatly back

They’re uptight

If there is no hair at all

They’re old

If it’s straight and silky

They’re beautiful


I have curly hair

Well, I don’t know how to describe it exactly

It’s thick

And wavy

Yet frizzy

And dead at the ends


And untamed


My mother says having curly hair makes you crazy

It means you’re bonkers


I mean, maybe she isn’t so wrong


I’ve always hated my hair

Because it is crazy

I am crazy

It is stubborn

It is difficult

I am stubborn and difficult


Then my hair met yours


Your curly round locks

Twisted tails

And rounded ends

Thick and fluffy






And I never loved such a type of hair in my entire life


I know

It’s kinda like mine

But it’s not


I run my fingers through the forest on your head

The ends of your twisted trees tickling the base of my palm





And after tickling my hands over and over

Against the same trees on your head


The whole forest stands like a wildfire






And I realize that you have been doing the same

Your fingers stuck in the tangly waves of the ocean atop of my head

I never loved such a type of hair my entire life

This poem is about: 


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