Struggling Roots

my coworker politely

and with hesitation

reached 

across continents

his hands outstretched

for my 

grabbable curly oh so unruly lovable

beauty of a kinked coiled hair

i didn’t make a statement

i wasn’t protesting

in truth, i was tired

the kind of tired that can sag into your skin

and soak up precious energy

tired of 

carefully descabbing the scorched scalp

so the blood flakes wouldn’t mar my fresh ‘do

three hours of yelling Dominican women

of avoiding water like acid

my angry kitchen wilting

tired of thinking that one day

my struggling roots would give up, 

fall out like milk teeth

tired of missing myself in the mirror.

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