Originally published in From the Root Issue #1: Hair
The ancient ones said that our hair were like antennas. Devices that transmitted information from the spirit world to the material world. Hair, it is a storyteller by it’s own right.
My hair has marked various points of massive growth and pain in my life. A dark-skinned black girl, my plaided hair was undesired beside the many depictions of flowing silky hair. Beauty standards function within an anti-black framework, whereby blackness is positioned furtherest a way from the ideal image of light skin and silky hair. Black hair, in its coils and its kinks can be a site of (queer) resistance, pushing the boundaries of concepts of self.
My hair is somewhat of an hairography. From two corn-rowed plaits and braids as a child, to my first relaxer when I was 13, chasing after certain expectations, suppression of self began. Sitting between mi muddah’s legs, scalp itching and burning. Lawd, I do not miss those days. The dead DNA up onah mi head, no matter its state has carried me through both my successes and failures.
I eventually had enough. Alighted with my spiritual trajectory, of dreams inspired by Quranic messages, of inspiration, of divine intervention, of intervention yes, to the craziness of submerging the beauty that is me, of darkness, of dark matter, dark energy, to power.
Hijab protected me and illuminated my inner beautification as I allowed my hair to return to its original state. I walked bad then, yet I moved humbly forward. Fear couldn’t catch mi, for I had the Highah Powah on my side.
And then my sexuality commanded my attention And so I gave her my fullness.
I removed the cloth, bringing my curly coils into the heat of the sun. In search for spiritual sex, I found leeches, who wanted to tek tek tek from mi.
I desired to erotically speak, without speaking. Moan, tug, bite, and Oh was it a journey.
I tapped into suppressed desires,
of childhood girl crushes,
blushes that my dark skin could hide.
Finally understood my attraction to the androgynous.
Fuck, I realized I am a beautiful, bisexual/queer.
My truth was revealed, I returned to my full natural state.
Intertwining bodies and spirits with the good and the succubi, It is now that I know, that the energy of those that you let converse with your erotic Spirit can influence your self-protection.
Emotional abuse sent me off the rails.
She was a dark skinned ancestor of a distant past,
her skin gleaned like gold, the moon made her glow.
She was beautiful, yet wretched.
Illusion turned into a nightmare.
Fear swallowed truths and necessary needs, My belief shot, like a bullet through my aura.
I became a shadow. I needed to be in control.
So I shaved it.
Shredding the strands of other’s DNA, fingers, Breath breathed through sex moans, Of words shouted and thrown like daggers.
I wanted it gone.
and the closer I got to the skin, I rose from the ashes, anew.
Retrospectively many strong whispers and vivid shouts from my ancestors and the Divine, called to me. My coiled receptors picked up their signals. It came to me,
“This is not what you are here for. You are here for greatness. You are here to communicate and create beside the people who truly inspire the Erotic, the Spirit, the Mind and the Body.”
I have left so much behind me, I have put down all the baggage. I can just continue to shave it all off,