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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
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