Beauty "Marks"

Nappy roots and straight ends Transitioning between dark brown strands And sun set blonde highlights Natural coils, hidden behind processed hair I am Not my hair But this is Not my hair either It was common in my teen years to walk down the street Hair down my back Neighborhood girls double take and ask...Is that your REAL hair? Like a fool, I would always respond, Yes Never acknowledging all the treatments I got from, Hot combs, Blow Dryers, and Flat Irons Crackling hair, fried nicely Or the results of a few scalp burns from my perm Just like our periods, we always knew that time of the month That time when you walk into a Black or even Dominican hair salon And everyone is sitting with their heads covered in white I look back and envy those moments All for some slick edges and a smooth 'kitchen' Now with four months of new growth, piled on my head This is still not my REAL hair These are not the waves my mother used to struggle so long to straighten Forcing a hot comb to press out the curse of my curly locks This hair of mine, is not my own If it was, I wouldn't stare in the mirror With confusion as to how to wear my own crown And the worst part I don't even feel comfortable touching my own tresses Instead I see them as stresses So with easy convenience, I hand my money over to a complete stranger Relapsing on this formula known as, Creamy Crack But this time, I fight a battle to regain my natural hair, yet still feel beautiful Double consciousness eats at me though To be black, be curly haired, be comfortable with my features No matter how Africanized they appear But also walk out my door, into a world that shows straight hair, long hair, Hair that I can purchase if I wish, but will never be mine The "ideal" in beauty I'll always wonder if my hair really captures the true essence of me If you are really looking at me Or just comparing my hair with a popular standard