Monday, May 17, 2010


This evening I had an interesting conversation with a rather interesting lad and it reminded me of this piece I wrote a while back. Also, my last post about the Black is Beautiful blog sort of sent me in this direction as well.


I would like to believe that I am not my hair.
but as I watched it fall to the floor I became it
it became me
and I am becoming a new person because of it
and the look is quite becoming
if I might add
the look of a woman with a shaved head
the look of a woman with an afro in a crowd of permed hair.

I'd like to believe I am not my hair 
but my hair is all of me

you can see my tight black fist in the air and picture my fro 
or you can see my fro and imagine my fist floating just above it 
to compliment it


I am proud to say I am my hair.

I am these napps and these kinks.
I am what God gave me
 It is all of me

It grows with out pressure 
It's not suped up on drugs 
its sober
though I am a fan of Ms. Madame CJ walker
I am not a billboard for her company
My hair does not blow in the breeze 
in fact it shrinks when its wet

that's just the way it is 
and I could never play Repunzul because of it
nor could I be a mermaid
the librarian turned sex kitten
the nerd turned prom queen
the hair flipping diva
or the varsity cheerleader.
But I could play a slave
or a mother
I could play a lover
and a friend
I could play a free spirit
the unique
the confident creative one
I could play a sistah
a Panther
a disco dancing show stoppin 4 wheel skatin 70s cliche  soul sister

I could be the "different" one. 

and I understand that 

-Jacqueline Naami

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