This...Hair

I stand prisoner in this mirror for hours
Trying to coax cashmere curls
From the new wool given as my natural texture
Layers upon layers I lay
Aloes and butters and efforts and oils
In an effort to tame this knotted mane into semi-submission...
Though chemically independent
I, still insist
To construct a softer facade
To ease the consciences of those naves unable
To navigate my dense thicket
Without becoming lost
Am I wrong for this?
Staunchly insistent on averting a ’70’s style fro’
Secretly believing segregated coils elude
To a decidedly exotic background
(is she West Indian? Is she mixed?)
Ah me…
Still seeking acceptance
From the bottom of a beauty jar
Still blind to the uncommon novelty
Of embracing myself
whole