A memory

my mother hated brushing my hair I would wiggle and twist trying to escape the heavy strokes on my head my curls twirled and knotted up fought back vigilantly as if at war I'd cry crocodile tears running down my cheeks maybe it was the unconscious memory of my toddler brother sneaking into the room where I lay asleep in my newborn crib beating me with said brush until I turned black and blue from the force he used eventually my cries of pain alerted one or two of the family coming to my rescue ..but it was too late the damage was already done my mother took it upon herself to cut off my locks for convenience sake who has time to tend to others' needs when one struggles themselves to make it through the daily hell they choose I didn't think much of it it let me loose to roam free but the hidden message was I was not cute enough to be taken care of eventually my hair grew back ...but it was too late the damage was already done I've had people try all my life to style and shape this gorgeous mess on my head of course none of them are in my life anymore their attempts to mold me into what is acceptable to them only brought to the surface that I wasn't good enough to belong in their belief system some of them tried to keep in touch when they understood what they missed ..but it was too late the damage was already done to this day I don't comb my hair why would I restrain the natural beauty of what it is after all it's how I chose to manifest on planet earth ~•~•~•~• a beautiful milieu