Hair

For years on out my mother tells me to cut my hair,

And I say no, but I would be lying if I say I didn’t consider it.

Este pelo no ase caso.

Este pelo confuso que ase poco no existía.

Este pelo que me vuelve loco, pero yo por nada lo cambiaria.

Este pelo que yo amo, pero mi familia como si fuera nada lo cortaría.

Because to them it means lack of opportunities, lack of respect, a high chance of death, and too much blackness.

And the reason they hate it is the reason I love it.

Because to me it means success, freedom, pride, and a representation of my blackness.

It shows that my people are rising up and will no longer live in darkness.

Yo soy Afro-Latino.

Ven y baila conmigo y miraras lo que yo miro.

Porque mis pasos y pelo cuentan la historia del pasado y mi destino.

So every time my mother tells me I should cut my hair, I say no.

Because cutting my hair to me feels like I’m letting my blackness go.

~KC

Inspired by: Elizabeth Acevedo’s poem “Hair”