Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

My Black Braids

Shimmered beauties
Fit for royalty
Zig zags and criss crosses
The aesthete would applaud


Nobody remembers the calloused hands and bloody feet

But I do
A shield.
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




Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback