Karawe

Kinky they say, 

Too curly to be cared about.

But the coil is my culture;

Constantly defined unattractive,

Under-appreciated efforts,

Tragically tainted tries.

A constant pain within my eyes,

And many unheard desperate cries.

As my securities die,

And my curls fry,

I look up to the sky.

As I cry and wonder why, 

Why does society have to lie?