Kinky they say, 

Too curly to be cared about.


But the coil is my culture;

Constantly defined unattractive,


Under-appreciated efforts,

Tragically tainted tries.


A constant pain within my eyes,

And many unheard desperate cries.


As my securities die,

And my curls fry,


I look up to the sky.

As I cry and wonder why, 


Why does society have to lie?

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