Shadows Of My Heart (poetry from the soul; for the soul)

Hair Me out

She thinks about slavery,

Yet chokes her realisation of my misery,

Unaware of what she is doing to me.

She's blinded by what's popular,

Afraid of seeming peculiar,

Can't she see that we are similar?

Doesn't she know I've been with her from the start?

Meant to be difficult, to sharpen her patience,

Hoping that the more time spent with me,

Would push her on the path of self-discovery,

Every broken comb a reminder of her victory.

But instead she looks in the mirror with tears in her eyes,

And I know she does not understand me,

Understand herself.

She sees me as a daily tackle,

I feel her force no different that her fore parents' shackles,

Like chemicals and heat,

The daily words hurled at her are toxic.

The endgame the same,

To straighten,

To manipulate.

She adds me to the things that hate,

Hate her by default.

Things that are out of her control.

Like all the hair strands she struggles to pull into a pony,

She'll never fit in,

She can't be tamed,

Forced into a mould, created by another's hand.

The pony pops off,

And she lets me be,

She soaks it in: the striking similarity.

She knows the extension of herself is me.

There is a sparkle in her eyes,

No longer will she compromise.

She'll take up space like her afro,

With self-love and patience, she will grow.

She's misunderstood,

But she's versatile.

Like each hair strand's response to gravity,

Their negativity daily she will defy.

Every kink will be a chink in what society holds as beauty.

Like my length,

She's underestimated,

But she'll play the fool,

Hiding her secrets behind the shrinkage.

She is finally proud of her heritage.