Naomi, what did you do to your hair? !
How do you wash it?
How does it do THAT? !
Is it naturally like that?
Can I touch it? !
These questions bombard me
in hallways, classrooms, among friends.
They act like they've never seen Afro hair before.
Ok, ok maybe they haven't.
Maybe that's why they're so curious!
Grabbing, pulling, inspecting
I feel like a science experiment.
You see, I have been cursed with black hair.
My Afro, in all of its nappy-ness,
is the reason why you can't see the board in chemistry class.
You'd be pissed if I sat in front of you at the movies
and if we hug,
my hair may just get caught up in your earring.
Sometimes I stare in envy at the blonde and brunette bombshells
with pin straight hair,
the gorgeous Hispanic girls with their glossy waves,
the Asian beauties with hair that resembles black silk
Their backgrounds so different,
their textures so similar,
and my shit looks nothing like it.
No wonder someone always want to touch it.
Because it's not "normal."
What I'd give to reach up to my head and feel