My Hair

I am not a slave to my looks therefore I am not a slave to my hair. 
Next time you say,


 You will never get a man with that hair.

Instead of running home to cry while smothering lipstick on my mouth, 
I will say:

Well these locks allow thirty minutes less in the bathroom which leaves more time for snuggling,

I can sweat and jump in the pool to wash off, and I don’t have to wear a plastic bag over my head when I’m kissing in the rain –

 My man will be so lucky.  

I am no longer a slave to the white man therefore I am not a slave to my hair. 
Next time you come up to me and tell me to fix it,
Instead of remaining speechless in perturbed confusion
I will say,

Well this is the way my hair is, 

I like it nappy, no leave it -

Let it alone no need for a comb - it’s supposed to be


He blessed me with dry roots so I can learn patience,

There is so little of it so I can know contentment.

No it’s ok; here lemme show you -
Underneath that wig is your gorgeous hair too.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741