"dear hair," an ever-evolving nhairrative

*click pictures to swipe

i was taught very young,

in some aunty’s backyard, 

on that wooden chair between her legs,

the way you flourish,

the way you curl and coil into a garden of power defying law, 

you could never be managed. 

I was taught very young

at somebody’s wedding, or maybe a graduation,

the way when pressed, and suppressed,  

even the universe conspires to see you free.

I was taught very young, 

in a salon where generators competed with the communing, and full-bellied laughs of working mothers,

“soufri pou’w bèl.” (~beauty is pain)

so I said, ”just a lil longer.”

I learned at 18,

you’d rather fall away than live a lye,

all in the kitchen, all on the sides,

so I got a halle berry cut racing you.

i learned at 19,

after my first big chop,

I wasn’t taught to let you grow, 

to nurture you to take form and space,

to embody your truths, and divine traits. 

but i liked it anyways, this version of me:

insecurities tapered anew every 2 weeks in a barber’s chair. 

i even liked seeing my face,

untangled from an illusion, expressing edge, and freedom.

i learned at 23,

a year into growing you out for the first time, 

i still wasn’t ready. 

jars of promises still defining your presence,

i couldn’t let you be.

i learned at 24,

somewhere between barshershops, and youtube,

you need more than expectations to resonate your magic.

maybe it was my birthday back that august in 2014,

maybe it was the bald cut,

maybe it was being 24 and still not knowing my own hair,

but i said fuck it, and committed to tunin’ in.

you guided me back to cellf, to deep conditioning on sundays, 

cocoa butter, and lemongrass essential oil, 

silk bonnets, and spray bottles,

headwraps, and bantu knots.

and you bloomed!

i had never seen you this rich,

this healthy, this bold. 

I learned at 27,

you’re a reflection of my innergy,

transmuting moments into stories i wish you wouldn’t tell so publicly

about what i’d been consuming…

from projections to propaganda, products, to produce;

keeping receipts on how unintentional i’d been with my mind,

my body.

checkin’ me till eye can’t ignore.

I learned at 29,

when I decided to let you be,

to expand, bend, and break as you please,

i’m still unlearning.

but amidst alla that healin’, you know what i’m lovin’ the most?

rolling you between my fingertips.

feelin’ texture,

feelin’ dynamism,

feelin’ union

feelin’ creation.

feelin’ flow.

feelin’ growth.

dear hair,

truly,

thank you.