To the girls with hair like that of a wild forest. Your hair is as dark as the night and as dry as the desert. For it has swallowed the sun.
It doesn’t fall straight,
Nor does it comply with the laws of gravity,
But instead, it is a wild forest,
Where the roots of its trees grow out of the soil that is your scalp,
And what a wonder it is,
Why these trees persistently insist on reaching for the heavens?
To the girls with hair like that of a wild forest,
“Why does it stay up?” they ask.
But these kinds of questions frustrate you, don’t they?
Because they do not intend on celebrating its existence,
But what they do is to question it.
Because peculiar is what they think of it,
And for that reason, it is rejected and shamed.
For its supposed “ugliness” and “unusualness.”
But don’t fret, child.
Ugly is just another word used to describe
The miscomprehension of beauty, not the absence of it,
And unusual is a term used to forgive whatever is ordinary, boring
In hopes of shaming whatever dares to be different, unconventional,
And your hair is exactly that.
It is a wild, rebellious forest,
That grows unapologetically,
So you mustn’t loathe,
Or fault it,
For its refusal to fall,
And submit to conformity.
To the girls with hair like that of a wild forest,
Do not deforest your curls, kinks, and coils,
To comply with the Eurocentric idea of beauty,
But instead, love and conserve its unique magic.
Exhaust the soil that is your scalp,
With moisturizing, hydrating oils…not lyes.
And if you must,
Wear a crown of beautiful, blooming flowers,
Because something as majestic as it is,
Deserves something lovely.
