black hair

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Kinky they say,  Too curly to be cared about.   But the coil is my culture; Constantly defined unattractive,   Under-appreciated efforts, Tragically tainted tries.  
Pardon me while I speak from my roots By this, I mean the beginning of my hair follicles So excuse me if my words sound twisted or dark by nature If you catch my drift.   Joined and denounced by many
Something came back to me today As I sat near the window and watched the sky turn grey.  It drizzled then began to pour  And the wound in my healing heart became an open sore.   
Once upon a time, in a tower- tall, far and kept away lived Rapunzel, a secret princess in her day   Her father, the King made a mistake he could not take back
Today my pick won’t go farther than three inches into this jungle. I could straighten it, but that would take too long, leaving me with only exhausted arms and a smoky bathroom.
Its not the clothes I wear the skin I’m in
Black people, like paint swatches, come in an array of shades. We can be a deep, rich mahogany, a creamy, smooth caramel, a bold, mysterious ebony, or even a blend of the three.
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