Curls, coils.
No finger formed against me shall prosper.
The snags and single strand knots
feel worse than a rubber band pop.
My pick knows no peace,
as my curls, coils, reach toward the ocean-blue sky.
Still they rise
with every curl definer, gel, and leave-in applied.
The wind caresses my coils, curls.
Blowing through won’t destroy them,
for nothing can penetrate the strands enough.
Standing tall.
Standing softly.
Standing audaciously.
My curls, coils, won’t be deterred
from their journey towards the sun.
Curls, coils.
Thank you for surviving long stretches between wash days.
Thank you for embodying the reminder to allow myself to take up space, too.
Thank you for confusing gravity; may it never crush you.
Coils, curls.
Thank you.
Luci Strong is a budding writer, hailing from Mississippi. Her Southern experiences and upbringing shape her writing. She loves to read romances, thrillers, and fantasy novels. When she is not reading, writing, or working in healthcare, she enjoys baking, hanging out with family and friends, and binging various TV shows (current binge: Real Housewives of Atlanta).
Featured image by Baylee Gramling on Unsplash.
