I grew out my hair. I grew my hair out, not to protest my mother's teaching, or my father's rule. neither was it a petty ploy to explore the hormones of youth, and certainly not an act of being fertilized, by the pollen of public opinion. but I grew my hair out. long and crazy, its strands, nappy and lazy. its follicles, voluminous and yearning for the sky in unbridled curiosity. I tended to its needs with expensive, sweet scented shampoos, conditioners, pomades and moisturizers. I braided it in elegant styles, and paraded the braider's skills on my skull. but I didn't grow my hair for the thrill of it. or to spend unstable currency on it, particularly in this, our economy. I didn't grow it to flaunt its jet-black hue, to my brown-haired pers, or to imitate my father's black and white pictures of the 80s. neither was it to mock those with residing hairlines, but I grew my hair out. funny how it only makes sense to me, to grow hair as a quest to find me, to l
Comments
Post a Comment