Afros

I’ve been natural for a year now.
Before the afro, it was pulled back in no specific style.
Before no specific style, it was in headwraps.
Before headwraps, it was two strand twisted.
Before the twists, it was in tight coils that I never let lock.
Before the locks I couldn’t commit to, it was hidden.
I hid it for years.

Before natural, I said:
I work out.
I don’t have time.
It’s not my thing.
I just can’t.
Before natural, I wasn’t satisfied.
I craved a signature look.
I wanted unique.
I wanted epic,
As long as it wasn’t mine.

After wrestling with my hair for a year,
I can say that I hid it because it scared me.
It was too thick.
Too coily.
Too much.

I’ve said that about myself too.
Too much.

After wrestling with my hair for a year,
my signature look found me.
It is thick
because it’s healthy and strong.
It is coily
because it’s uniquely black.
It is too much for some,
and that excites me.
My hair is mine.

I was right to be intimidated by it
because it’s special.
It requires my time.
It requires my care.

I have to listen to it,
instead of fighting it.
My hair needs love.
It loves to be free.
It likes to dance in the wind.
My hair loves to stretch.
My hair likes to fly.
It holds.
It shapeshifts.
My hair has superpowers.

And
in some strange way,
learning to care it,
teaches me to care for myself.