My Black Braids
Fit for royalty
Zig zags and criss crosses
The aesthete would applaud
Nobody remembers the calloused hands and bloody feet
But I do
Protector of my secrets
Tales buried deep in the knots, fixed atop and anchored to the core.
Stitches in tact
Always ready to hide the naps,
and hold the sorrow filled cries.
Whipping loosely from my scalp
The freedom it now has to breathe.
The deep-rooted knots remembering
Whispering about the struggled times
Share this article: