Dear Hair,
I'm sorry for how I let voices of self hate mixed with Eurocentric ideals of beauty creep into my developing mind and telling me you were ugly.
I'm sorry for letting media images of what's desirable dictate my opinion of your beauty and allowing them to obscure my view of your coiling and curling and seeing it not as beauty but as something to be changed and ashamed.
I'm sorry for taking away the natural oils you needed to stay healthy by washing you everyday after white classmates said washing you once a week was ''gross'' and not enough and by doing so washing away any ounce of pride I could have of you.
I'm especially sorry for burning you off in an attempt to love myself as if straightening away your spiraling motions would somehow make me look beautiful.
I'm sorry for not realizing that you are not just a part of me, but of a culture, battered and bruised. Flourishing in eye of inequalities. Bending stereotypes. Curving hatred. Your ringlets are not just a part of me but a part of a little girl, looking for someone powerful who mirrors her. You're weightless. I'm sorry for trying to weigh you down