My Locks1 min 239 1 min 239
Days I have used hot iron on these locks of mine.
Days I have strangled it with tight braids.
To realize, how these curls broke out loose from all the pressure and stress I used.
She can barely be tamed.
Her identity finally reclaimed.
She breaks dams that hold her back, and
Flows down like a river jet black.
Her tangles enhance her complexity
Her density a mere representation of her serenity.
Insecurities are finally are broken free.
Time we stop to brag, instead celebrate our zig-zags
These long tresses helped me celebrate my crookedness.
My melanin and my curls stand as my birthright, and
I wear them like a crown to shine bright with all of my pride.