||11||: Ode to Kinky Hair

The inception of kinky hair is admired,

To understand and live by the kink, patience is required.
Love and acceptance is wired into my brain, cause this kinky multi textured fro ain’t going nowhere.

I like the no lye vibe, Be easy, let the soul grow,

Be free from the heavy hand of hot tools,

Be free, no need to be an overstocked hair junkie without a dime.

I keep it easy, low maintenance, I let it be free, from conceptual limits created by the media’s money tree.


I’ve caught you staring, thinking about touching each strand, like an uncontrollable fantasy.

It’s a wonder why it’s become a natural community, a movement, a crown fit for royalty.

It’s bizarre that it’s misunderstood.
It’s called wild, unruly, and far too unapologetic to be allowed in school.

My hair is a crown, a royal entity.
It’s God-given, truly numbered, textured yet light like color coated candy, so airy to touch, too heavenly to clutch.

 I admire the zigs, coils, zags, puffs, slants, and straight textures.

I admire the hair that stands at attention, strands that blow in the wind, untamed and unexpected.

I’ve caught you staring, thinking about touching each strand, like an uncontrollable fantasy.

It keeps me aware that I need a day of self-care. It’s about balance, preparation, and dedication.

It is whimsical; capricious and keeps me challenged.

Keeps these hands busy, with muscles gained throughout each arm from all night braiding and twisting sessions.


The Queen ‘sho look pretty in the mawnin.
It’s worth it, it’s a blessing.
This versatility ain’t for the meek, it’s for the spiritually awakened, no need to be critical and no need to blend in.

This kinky hair is for the one who wants to accept that this-is-it, I am who I am.

My hair loves the rain, it praises it, it awaits the down pour like a hallelujah cry — I’ve made it,

Every raindrop coats each strand, like a plant based umbrella,

Every rainbow that’s brushed on the sky is a sign that there’s hope, you’re God’s beautiful creation.

Some days it’s counter productive, one morning the strands are straight, by evening it’s like a grape who converted to a raisin, some call it disrespectful, I call it a rebel saved by grace.

It is my pillow when I need a place to rest my head, I’m a self contained vessel, proving to the Universe that we are efficient, we humans are walking miracles,

My kinky hair grows tall and strong like my ancestors sugar cane, “Rise up!” — “You are enough!”


Before you reach for my kinks, before you caress and cuddle my fluffy creation, please ask for permission.

With Purpose,

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