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The Universe is in Her Hair

Curls that twirl and mimic the galaxies that grace our very skies.

The Universe is in her hair.

If you’re lucky enough to touch it,

You may begin at the end and follow the thick thread to the root.

And trust me, the root is strong.

The Universe is in her hair.

The course, Black Sea that enchants you upon first sight,

Rows and rows of cornrows laced together magnificently.

The sunrise is pretty, sure. But it’s nothing against the beauty of the freedom of her hair.

Her hair whispers secrets every time it’s pulled, plucked, or picked.

The night sky weeps in envy once it glances at her.

The Universe is in her hair.

Golden string intertwined between each crevice,

Between each space of a twist where it needs some light to shine out the darkness.

Shells stolen from the foot of the ocean to be placed strategically upon her darkened waves

The Universe is in her hair

Mountains rise high, and valleys fall low in the same pace her hair is cut short and grows

Look closely now, look upon it with admiration.

Because her hair holds legends, tall tales, and moisture.

It holds the moon, stars, clouds, and endurance.

Let that sink in with the coconut oil.

The Universe is in her hair.


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