There’s a mist

That’s covered my reflection.

I step out

Onto the soft rug,

Letting it soak

The residue of

Mint bubbles

As I stand there

A second longer

And let the cold

Wrap itself around me

In a warm embrace,

Sending shivers

To every hair

And nerve ending.

I inch an inch closer

To the misty mirror

And let my finger

Trace the smile

From kindergarten.

One more smile;

And another star.

I admire it

Till the shivers

Have disappeared

And then erase

With my palm

To leave droplets

Over drenched strands

And a makeshift turban

In indigo.

I’ve walked out

To the balcony

Letting the sun

Kiss the leftover

Mint bubbles

As I  bend over

And unwrap the turban

To let curls drenched in

Almond milk and argon

Fall over and bounce on air.

I let it swing for a while

On its own, first

And then let the

Blue towel

Scrunch it lightly

Between swings to the left

And then to the right.

I can see rainbows

On the crevices

Of my curls,

And I stand there

Trying to catch them

In my palms

As they roll down

Like raindrops on the window.

I stare back

At the clear reflection

Of damp curls

With no rules,

Twirling two strands,

And then let my fingertips

Glide over my scalp,

Massaging it

With oils of

Belief and love.

I let my fingers

Run through my hair


Untangling every knot


As I wonder,

How I wish to wear them today.

There’s a comb

That’s been dipped

In the serum of your opinion,

Bending its teeth

To fix my hair

To fit it in your idea of beauty;

To tame it to your command.

I pick it up

And toss it in the sterilizer,

Burning off the venom

You’ve spewed over it,

Letting the heat mould

Its teeth wide

To accept and pride.

I part my hair

To the left

And decide to wear them

As they are.

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