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My Hair

 My hair was meant to expand

Not be straight

It was meant to raise up

To seek moisture in air

To be playful

Forcing me to chase it

with my fingers, brush, and gel

And still defy all three

It was meant to have curls, strands racing around

in a wave or coil that often changes

And demand that I accept all of them

My hair now reminds me of Joy

Of teasing

Of resistance

Of demanding to be free

And I get to wear this growing expansive crown

It is Black, and it is Me. 

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