From Whispers to Wisdom

Sixth grade with the year you were supposed to ask mom for a relaxer; The year to trade afro picks with butterfly clips; To let new straight hair fall in ribbons over the glittery plastic. Sixth grade was the year to start patting your hair when it itched, To carry combs in your pencil case, The year the word “nappy” bruised like a punch on the playground. I remember the year I was the only one who still  had ki'chens The only one with braids and beads and tin foil tips. I bought a cheap butterfly clip at the corner store one day; Tugged my dark cotton blossom into a twist and pinned it down like a fight. It did not fall in ribbons. It did not stay down as easily as self esteem As easily as a broken spirit. Sixth grade was the year I begged my mom for a relaxer. The only year I cried during the burning. I will always remember that first burning. I walked into school school that Monday, my scalp a mess of concealed scabs And dark limp strands grazing my should...

I am someone who tends to  over think and over-plan things. Honestly, the only way to keep my brain less scattered is to be ready for anything. I like to know how my days will be scheduled in order to be fully prepared for any little thing that might come up.  I’ve been getting to know someone special for a couple months now, and, she is super dope! I'm really enjoying the time we get to spend together. She’s kind, sweet, funny and we have good conversations, which is so rare these days. Not to mention, she seriously turns me on at the best moments… but that’s another blog post entirely! For my birthday in March, she surprised me with tickets to a Broadway show I was dying to see, called The Prom - and truthfully, it was the sweetest gift I had gotten in a while. I wanted to look amazing the night of the show - not solely for her, but for myself as well. I wanted to feel confident, like the Queen I am in my head. The night came and I had on my best hair: a long wavy dark...