a poem for wildabeasts
My hair is holy
To be covered in it
Even lightly
Is in honor
I will not make myself
New smooth
Like a mewling baby
I am grown
A beast
If not the king himself
And my hair is beautiful
One of the most
beautiful things about me
I knew that
In childhood
I knew that
And I shaved it anyway
Conformity
Because I wanted to be admired
Fear
Because someone
Taught me
Shaped me
Girlhood
But no more
My hair is mine
A mark of distinction
As a wild thing
And no mistaking
Atira C. © 2023. All rights reserved.
