I arise with the sun, and shake free my wild mane.

Thick, long, tendrils of tousled curls grace my head, 

just as a crown upon the head of a king.

Its twisted nature only rivaled by the twisted thoughts that cloud the head it adorns.

I wonder if my hair knows that I am lost...

And therefore follows suit by wandering aimlessly in all directions. 

A beautiful mess of kinks and coils that I wear proudly as a badge, 

given to me by Mother Africa herself.

Proclaiming that I am beautiful. 

Naturally.