She, Her, and Me

Being black, short, and thick-stranded,

She follows me everyday.

I met her when I first saw everything, but

I didn’t learn her name until I was

Old enough to understand.

I noticed everyone was satisfied with their replica of her.

I wasn’t.

Staying black, short, and thick-stranded,

She hurts me everyday.

She would always put up a fight as if the teeth of the comb was going to

Yank her out.

She wouldn’t let anything get through to change her.

She made me grow an obsession with my

Self-Conscious.

Compared to the girls who had hair that was straight and long,

I wasn’t visually pleasing.

I wasn’t.

Still black, but no longer short and thick-stranded,

She grew with me everyday.

Thanks to my mom, I learned new tactics on how to nourish & nurture her.

She loves the creamy conditioner that I

Smooth into her.

The sweet smelling oils put a

Smile on her face.

I think we’re starting to get along.

We are.

I felt like I was pretty.

She became my best friend, and

Everyone thought of us as the dynamic duo.

I no longer complained about how she looked

On top of my head.

She was admirable like a crown.

She was.

Because she was always out,

I wanted to protect her.

Adding synthetic strands to her body was what

Seemed like the best option.

A lady from Ghana had the skill to do it for me.

But one mistake ruined everything.

It did.

Everyone knows that fire ruins everything.

They’re never told to keep it away from hair, though.

I lost her.

I didn’t notice until weeks later.

She was gone.

She was.

Always black but back to short and a little thick-stranded,

She was a stranger again.

It has been this way since the sharp scissors removed

The damage that was done to her.

I was afraid of her.

Not only her but what everyone else would think.

Was I ugly again? Would people still compliment me?

I didn’t know what to expect with society.

I didn’t.

Fully black, short, and thick-stranded,

She tried interacting with me again.

She knew I was always trying to hide her, so she

Stood out even more.

She stopped going to straighten her hair.

This made her coils pop even more.

She knew what she was doing.

She knew.

I used to think that beauty standards can control

My relationship with her.

“You’re only pretty if your hair is long”.

You’re not.

“You’re only pretty is your hair is straight.”

You’re not.

She shaped me.

She gave me the opportunity to realize

I’m beautiful no matter what.

Society didn’t give birth to me.

My mother did.

And my mother gave birth to

A black female with hair that will

Shut down the beauty barriers that are

Held against HER.