Mi greña

I learned to be ashamed of it

I learned that I needed to tame it

I thought I didn’t have a choice but to endure the pain of that relaxer burning my scalp and the endless pulls when trying to comb through

El que quiere moño bonito, aguanta jalones, I was told.

I believed it

I believed I had to endure to meet this white standard of beauty

I believed that the hair that grew out of my head wasn’t acceptable the way it was

I believed I was less worthy because of it

Not today

Today, as I run my fingers through mi greña and stretch it so it reaches my shoulders

It is no longer a source of shame, but a source of pride and strength

I no longer wish it would stay in this longer, straightened state

As I let go, it bounces back up, reverting back to it’s true nature

Today I see my hair as an extension of my very being

Each strand is strong, capable of weathering change and harsh conditions, but always comes back to its true self

Each coil tells the story of my ancestors who came before me, who endured for me to exist

Just as I am