Taming It

I’ve pondered the meaning of the phrase
I’m afraid it still eludes me.
I cannot tame these wild African tresses
Like me, they demand to be free!

I’d explain it to you since you’re under a spell
A trance, dark magic from others
But I fear that your ears are stopped with wax
Why should I even bother?

Just watch the soft swish of my hips
As I turn around and say
My coily hair is GORGEOUS
And I love it this way.

It’s a part of my soul and reflects who I am
The one that confuses you
Complicated, varied, innovative, creative
One-of-a-kind through and through.

It is black. It is bold. It is soft. It is cold.
And I’ll thank you for keeping away
Your ignorance (like your hands and your mind)
Forgive my frankness I pray.

My hair is drenched in love and tenderness
In hopes, dreams and old tales
They reek of tears spilled, ventures failed
Wisdom poured, peek behind the veil.

It will not stoop to pressure
No matter how hot
It would rather break off from the root
Die and then rot

It refuses to look like so-and-so’s hair
Keeping a style
It folds in the wind, shrinks in the rain
And only grows wild.

So when you say “tame it”
I’m not sure what you mean
I’m not tame, can’t be trapped
In your hair regime.



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