Hair, my Hair, not Yours

Unruly, thick and frizzy is my hair. But smooth and light is what I like… And so often, I put up a fight.

I do not fight my curls for vanity. Nor because of society. And I do not fear others’ thoughts and others’ preferences.

In fact my love doesn’t care. Only, I do. And so the fight is for me, solely.

I fight for smoothness, against time and against nature. For I prefer bugs and twigs and such to keep out. And size and frizz to stay put. Not disclosing my level of stress or annoyance. Or, as it likes to, the level of heat and humidity.

I much prefer my fingers, and his, to run through untangled. Without coming upon and into a knot.

To feel it flow into the wind. With no worry for the mess it will be. Or even, simply, to fit into a hat.

And so it’s for me that I do my hair. And not for you. You who, with your obedient hair, shan’t have a say in any of it.

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