Poetry: The Perks of Being Me, A Black Woman's Perspective
5 Years old, Natural 4c curls bussin out of the scalp,
Momma got the Vaseline and straightening comb; she’s waiting for it to melt.
Pulling the comb through,
She tells me to hold back my ear.
"Don’t move, don’t budge" she says as I wiggle in the wooden chair.
"Ouch" I say,
Though nothing even hurts.
Something like a convicting message when the pastor speaks at church.
Part by part, piece by piece,
adding the finishing touches she adds a little grease.
Dax Pomade, founded by Herman Bley,
He came to the U.S. after escaping the concentration camps of Nazi Germany.
At 8 years old I asked my mom for a relaxer,
She wanted me to change my mind.
She told me that Black hair matters, Black hair mattered.
She also told me that one day I would later regret it,
it would thin out my hair and possibly take out my edges.
15 years old, I found a stylist and started paying for my own roller sets,
The stylist washed my hair, I thought I was Dominican when she wet it.
Hitting up my local beauty supply store,
I bought butterfly clips, glossy lip-gloss and scarves.
When I didn’t carry a purse, my girl told me to put my lip-gloss in my bra.
In college, I was wearing wigs and weaves.
Half wigs, quick weaves, full sew-ins; nobody could tell me nothing, please.
At 35, I’m a woman,
I am now full grown.
I wear my hoops, diamonds, I’m a setting stone.
I love being a Black Woman, one day I’ll tell you more.
Truth be told though, there’s always something to learn,
as the Black Woman always has something in store.
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