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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