When I was three
Killed my hair
She tossed a posion
On my tiny little head
My smooth little baby curls ceased to exist
"I don't want my baby's hair to be nappy."
YOU ARE READING
Call it prose. Call it poetry. Call it hastily written words. Whatever you call it...enjoy it. Be saddened by it. Learn from it. Embrace it. Bask in it. These are words written by one woman for all women. You're beautiful. Smile. There is someone...