Cinnamon Curls by Sarah Asia

Like my hair, locked in place,
I was trapped by their boundaries,
Unaware I was being molded.

I’d spent my entire life behind
Behind these bars called hair;
I stripped away a part of my soul
With each relaxer slathered
On my virgin roots,
My scalp pinkened with chemical burns.

Afterward, the odor of rotten eggs
From the cool, white, creamy concoction
Would trade space with the sour smell
Of burning hair
As I pulled a scorching metal rod
Down my dull and drained mane.
I seared my head into a wig,
Steam rising and strutting across the room.

Like my hair, locked in place,
I was trapped by their boundaries,
Unaware I was being molded.
Wind and Rain forever carried
The threat of exposing my front:
The wild ringlets beneath
The self I scalded straight.
My sentence began further back
Than memory spared room for,
And I remained blind to the
Grain of my authentic roots
‘Til curiosity seized me,
I invoked the courage
To spiral back to zero,
Cut off my rootless tresses
And allow to consume my head,
This fiery crown of cinnamon curls.

Through these coiling locks,
My ancestors speak again,
Whispering of forgotten freedom
And beauty ancient as Man.

#artistthrowback circa 2003

MORE ABOUT SARAH ASIA

My creative nature is not restricted to “making” art. I live and breathe as an Artist, see as the Artist sees, and weave my personal, professional, and creative life just as I please, in true Artist form. I live to sip inspiration and hunger to feed it.

I am a Creature of the Night, a consort of Nut and liaison of the Stars and the Trees. Luna breathes through my Blood that I may remember the secrets of the Mother from my Bones and whisper them across the winds like dandelion seeds for NTR to gestate at Her whim to bloom within the wombs of my Sisters.

I am We.

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