My Hair is a Crown

My hair is a crown that represents my lineage to kings and queens reigning from Kemet down the motherland to the tip of Capetown.

My curl pattern is as tight as a spring but best believe you can’t  tell me anything I’m still a king Because once again, my hair is a crown

I like the sound that it makes when I rake it into outer space

You call it nappy but that’s a trap which you so blindly walk into.

You need to wake up, it’s an issue for you to misuse the terminology to describe me

No apologies for my cosmetology

Society is chronically ill and I’m here to seal the deal and let you know that my fro signifies much more than excessive hair growth

Simply put, the uneven terrain of my head showcases versatility

My ability to undergo massive stress but still I retain my humility and yes humidity may change it’s fluidity but  that’s just what happens naturalistically So why alter it?

Why falter it? If God projected me in this image why fall under the spell of social privilege?

Enough pigmentation to fill a swimming pool only a feel would use their skin complexion as a tool to change people’s perception

Perfection is not possible, my skin is a weapon no matter how much I resemble night

still shedding light my heart is bright red and pumps with all its might

sound familiar yeah its kind of peculiar on a chemical level we all the same our DNA is only different by 4 letters its the same under the waves of melanin through my glasses frames I see beauty of the human race but what’s misunderstood is the is no first place

Look at my face, as I show disdain at the fact that my generation doesn't appreciate their ancestor’s pain

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder

Our duties are defined in our culture, keep it in a holster

They killing us off man they not supposed to

Thats why when the feds approach us

a certain level of anxiety is reached

They don't teach us that if we too abruptly without notice

reach for the stars and they feel like pulling that card we

can end up behind bars or better yet in a graveyard

When it’s my time I’d like to be remembered as royalty

A king because my melanin count is mean

And I understand that my ancestors are responsible for the everything that’s consequently developed into a murder scene by the ignorance of our society

I am a king. My hair is a crown, my skin is brown

and I will remain that hard pill to swallow, I refuse to go down as anything less than profound because I smell the blood of my enemy such that of a hound.

You’re bound to hear my sound

My father in the clouds tells me all the time that I am astoundingly blessed and those will continue to rain down regardless of the color which my skin is found.