I am my hair. I am its story. I am rebellion, because when people conformed, I took a detour.
I am my hair. I am its unlikely twists & turns, because my life has taken the same route, twisting & turning into paths, some bad, some great, all memorable.

I am my hair. I am its toughness & strength. I am a city wall built against assault, against attacks; built to build from ashes & adversity; built to use storms & rain & sun to toughen me up to the point of yelling, “Is there no one else?”

I am my hair. I am heritage. Blackness. Pride. Uniqueness. A fingerprint. Never to be found elsewhere but here where I stand. Yes, because no freeform dreads are the same, no matter how much they look alike.

I am my hair. I am beauty. Roughness. Grizzly. Leonine. Fierce. Soft.

I am my hair. I am the patience that comes with it. The length- longevity. I am eternity. Immortality. Because hair never truly dies. It keeps growing.

I am my hair. Like fine wine. The more it grows, like I grow, the more it becomes beautiful, like I become more beautiful.