Memoirs of a Dark Girl Like Me . . . My Real Hair

A poem by Natasha

Girl is that your Real Hair?
Well, who else's would it be?
That can’t be all yours
No really it’s all me

When I was a little girl
Little boys pulled and tugged
That ain't yo' hair they snickered and jeered
That caused my eyes to well up with tears

It must be extensions
Or a ponytail weave
No, it is mine
Why won’t you believe?

Dark girls don’t have long hair
They would chant
It’s the length, it’s the length
To my mom I would rant

So first came the press and curl
And then the white cream
Now, I thought, those boys
Will stop being mean

But, no it got worse
And then I was scared
Scared of what they thought
About my Real hair

So then, snip, snip
And cut, cut
I’m looking Fly!

No more of their questions
And wondering why

But later on in life came more of the same
They just couldn’t believe my long relaxed mane
Girl is that your Real Hair?
Well who else's would it be?
That can’t be all yours
No really it’s all me

Your hair is so long
It flows down your back
You have to be mixed or
It must be Yak

How ignorant, how ignorant,
How ignorant could you be?
Hair is hair even on Dark girls like me

Ok I Got IT!
Here comes the Big Chop!
And now it’s gone
No one else will mock

Oh, but here it comes
More of the same
More and More questions
About the Reality of my mane

Girl is that your Real Hair?
Well who else's would it be?
That can’t be yours
No really it’s all me
And so on, and so on
It can’t be all yours
It’s just too curly

Your hair with the curls
They sell that for a price
Well this wasn’t bought
It’s all mine
God made it real nice