My Curly Crown
I had straightened
And loved it.
But still it grew with a definitive curl
I cursed it,
Willed it to grow
But with each tug it sprung back to life
I wished upon the heavens
Even borrowed from distant sisters
Played with it
But it would not bow down.
Till the dawn of my awakening
I understood this not,
That my crown begged to define
Who I was inside
Unique and strong, that would be me.
Now I comb and oil it,
Feed my fingers through its coily maze.
Marvel at its versatility
It sits regal and unapologetic,
The perfect crown for this lovely face.