Give it a Press

The matted carpet on my head

Wreaks of oils and creams

It shrinks up like a dried raisin in the sun

And festers like a pus-filled boil

 

If it’s out and wild

It’s an untamed beast of unconformity

But if it’s pressed and permed

My identity is uncertainty

 

The naps, kinks, and curls

Turned to straight, broken, and split

The ends of time will never be seen

Because of the shape of the nappy fro’ on my head is blocking your view of what's ahead

 

That 4C turned hair

Makes you call it course

But if I go get the hair of a horse

The comment is “ You’re trying to be like us ”

But the fact is

I can’t fit in

Whether my hair is out

Or under a weave

That protective style is not what I need

But I love my hair

So, please……

Give it a press

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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