Dreadfully

“Girl, what is wrong wit yo head?”
“Nothing.”
“Well you need to comb that mess out. Walking around here with a head full of pig tits.”
“They’re not pig tits. They’re dreadlocks and I like em.”
“I agree with one thing. They do look dreadful.”

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You’re trying to shove it down my throat that white folks ain’t gone like it, that doors will be closed, that I have chosen to look unkept. It’s you that cracks back with backhand compliments. Telling me what I can’t be.

I refuse to be responsible for someone else’s fear of my freedom. I push back against false teachings that do not belong to me. I will not be turned around by someone who has processed all the natural thoughts out their head by buying into lye. I won’t deny myself my righteousness. I won’t be turned around.

Dreadful is my awe inspiring outward manifestation of inside revelations. They teach me. Tremble against my courage if you must. Shutter at my disregard for life that was never meant for me. Then at the same time, you wanna touch em. No ma’am. Your ways are a circus; I won’t jump through hoops.

Be ashamed? Of what? If I walk in a door and I’m not welcomed, then that is a place I would not want to be. And in my personal experience, they never blocked access to quality opportunities for me. Key word: quality. Not every door leads to a room I want to go in. I’m choosy. Seriously, what can be kept from me? A mock-up of equality? Yeah keep that. It’s beneath what I already know the path to be.

And I ain’t gonna twist my edges away. Trying to tame whats supposed to be free. Miss me. Besides all that pulling, pinning, and yanking make my roots hurt. But mine ain’t pretty cus they don’t fit into your Cosmo game? Y’all want that GQ fame. Yeah I don’t live in that frame. How do you conform nonconformity? Stop it.

A bit of extra truth though. My crown is a straight mat with coils in the back. My modge podge heritage won’t rest in a label. It can’t nestle into fable, cus it’s silk and nappy. It expresses in a way that sincerely baffles me. I learned not to fight it. It can be quite dreadful.

But feel fear? Terror? Never. Well maybe sometimes you should, but that depends more on you and about me less. Are your intentions to inhibit, restrict, or suppress? I ain’t colorblind. I recognize all the shade I see. Well, your inferior ruminations build on standards of degradation will not rule the celebration of my inalienable right to be. Me. Free.

I hope you felt that. Dreadfully lol.

I’ve added a new read for your edification! Learning about dreadlocks as an art of self-expression is just as important as understanding social boundaries necessary to the respect and preservation of it’s sacred space. Please check out “Don’t Touch My Hair” on my Journey page!

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