Insult

You tellin me that if a white man wants to be a

woman

after 40 years of havin a penis

we should support

“her”

but if I want to embrace the kinks and beauty of my

Natural

Curls, that I’ve hidden underneath

Brazilians, Malaysians, and that goddamn Olive Oil perm that

Burned

The hell out of my scalp

When picture day was approaching, that I

Needed to

Comb it.

No one

Liked the girl with the

Hair.

“Mr Jones, Ronisha’s hair is in my way.”

My teacher,

With a skin color so

Pale

That you’d never see him in my

Neighborhood

But that’s the only color of the

Teachers in my

Neighborhood.

He says to me,

Ronisha,

If you cannot

Tame

Your mane, then you need to

Exit

My classroom. Your hair is a

Distraction.

But No, I refuse.

I will not be

Silenced.

You people have taken

Enough

Of our culture, tried to flip it, and call it

Kylie.

I am black.

I do not have

Privilege.

I am not Rachel Dolezal.

I cannot remove

My blackness just to get a job.

I cannot perm my hair and apply too fair makeup to my

rich mocha skin.

I Will Not,

Be Silenced

I will be

Vibrant

Like the curls in my hair

Spiraling a million different ways just like the dancing

Of my ancestors

I will be
Happy

Not just in the skin I’m in

But also the African god I have

Faith in.

Kujichagulia

I will be woman

Enough to not just be a

Black Woman

But a Woman

With a big ass afro

So please

Don’t touch my Hair.