My Locks

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.