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Bekah Halle May 29
My curls, full and voluminous, I treasure
Each one tells a story.
People flock to touch,
Grasping them like gold,
They ask: “How did you get them such?”
“Are they natural?” Some scold,
In a world full of fakes, that hits like a punch.
“Yes!” I reply with pride,
My curls are my mane, grabbing them, I scrunch,
Jealousy can slide!
My curls are my shield;
They mask my doubt, comparisons
Much profit they yield!
You can tell a lot from my curls:
When I am tired and lazy,
When I treat them like 'my girls,'
When I'm sassy and crazy.
When they’re not washed for weeks,
My mental health radar
Send me obvious tweaks -
“Don’t disconnect, come back, savour,
Reconnect with yourself and the world,”
My curls are my most significant feature;
My crown of glory.
I S A A C Jan 2022
it is your birthday today, the first man to show me
there are layers to masculinity and femininity
and each layer you kissed
today I am led to reminisce
funnily enough, I still dream about you
you were the only healthy thing I ever liked
you were the only man who ever did me right
You washed me clean of my trauma and make me shine like pearls
I dreamt you met my momma and you kissed my curls
but you are happy now and I am too
maybe in the next life
I hope I can find someone like you
Odd Odyssey Poet Jun 2021
Letting off your despair,
looking ever so lovely today.
Let me run errands with my fingers
throughout your entire hair.

Those afro and curls,
how can I make you my girl?

What I see is what I get.
And once I have it, I won't regret.

Let go, and let go of your hair.

Seems wild to others, but tame in my eyes.
Running thoughts running in your hair,
telling me what's on your mind.

Going round and round with words,
tying knots to an issue with your curls.
Always to get on your nerves,
for speaking in vein of how I'm in love with your Afro & Curls.
Ironatmosphere Aug 2020
I found someone
who didn't remind me of him
Someone much better
If only he wanted me
Mystic Mar 2020
I was always told my hair texture was bad.
So here comes the white cream.
The white cream is chemical hell.
I can smell it as I write this.
As I got older I realized the white cream took out more than my curls and coils that the Man upstairs scribbled for me.
It took away my temple hairs. It took my chances of having hair past my shoulders.
But the white cream never took my curiosity.
My never ending curiosity of what I would look like if the white cream never took my real hair from me.
My real hair, which was, is, and never will be “bad.”
Crystal Freda Dec 2019
burgundy braids braced
the back of her brass bed.
Raving ruby ringlets
ravaged royalty on her head.

autumn's aquired art
ablazed ambers of auburn.
crimison curls caressed
as carmine chromes churn.

vivifying vistas vibrate
vibrance with verbalized twirls.
Remembering rumbles of rage
rouged in her rancid curls.
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