We have battled for years:

you have broken brushes,

I have shed many tears.

I’ve been driven to my wit’s end

by all the tangles

and the split ends.

I have called you “fro”, “poof”, and “mop”

and you have fought,

challenging me on picture days and proms.

No man can ever run his fingers through my hair

you would entrap him,

the curls, really, a snare.

Hair ties snap before you,

headbands can’t hold you back,

random pins appear out of the blue…

Ponytails aren’t enough to contain your wildness

patient people must braid my hair,

to combat your frizziness.

I have had you burned alive,

have poisoned you with product,

now on a new mission, I strive

to accept you as a worthy opponent—

a first-rate foe.

I am now, of your liberty, a proponent,

I want to let you flow.

Because although you are ungodly thick

hard to handle and to style,

you make me unique.

I respect your distinctness,

your beauty,

and your strength.

So here’s to you,

curly hair

and all of your craziness.