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 ...