These are uncertain times –
our children moon into still waters
with closed eyes; their backs to the Sun,
hoping against hope, forgetting the tide.
Silent cries that fall on deaf ears
that beg to bleed sweet sepia relief
of blonde beliefs in their dusky, dark dreams.
Who names their beauty?
Precious coiled kinks pressed beyond relief
till the pressure and heat on their neck
make even their tears sweat.
Hot combs in cold hands,
straightening the kinks from our hair
when the kinks in our minds are still bent out of shape.
at every inch of exclamation of Afrikan pride–
even our tendrils are terrorized;
nappy-headed beauty, denied.
So blue-black baby girls get busy in blue-eyed worlds
trapped in an inferiority mindset,
green eyed fixations of Shirley and her temple curls
and an afro-denial complex.
Her halo cropped crown of the darkest brown
surrounding the breadth of her old soul, ancient smile.
So dearly divine, her highly textured bloodline
ambushes the grey eyes that tell lies on her brown face,
nappy edged freedom, embraced.
The free of form never did come easy
but, these roots spring freely
‘cause my roots bore deeply.
Why fear the fro?
Twist-out, bless up,
go bush and let go!
Long and bushy, short and wooly,
stick a pencil in these naps, it ain’t ever coming back!
Spinning, winding, naturally spiraling
upward to achieve our god-given, sun-kissed nappturality.
Overstand – our Black is STILL Beautiful,
so in our nappy afros, parted cornrows,
natty lovelocs, and kinky twists
We rise pumpin’ our Afrikan power fists
of Black Empowerment.
Keep It Natural, Know Yourself, dare to be KINKY
Even I stopped twisting my locs so my thoughts