When I was a kid, before I had even turned 5,
My mom gave my black curly hair a pixie cut.
My sister’s friends always used to ask her,
“What’s your brother’s name?”
She’d draw their attention to my earrings and point out that I’m a girl.

When I was a little older,
I pretended not to care about comments like this:
“Apply something to her hair to make it softer,”
But I cried when I was alone.

Mama used to tie my hair back all the time,
And always kept it short.

When I got old enough to be the one taking care of my hair,
I learned that I could let it down and it’d still look elegant.
I started loving it so much, and so did my friends and family,
Except for my mom who says it makes me look like Medusa,
And keeps nagging me to cut it.

This was until I met my sister’s colleague at work,
Who told mama,
“How come one of your daughters has silky hair and the other has coarse hair?”

The hairdresser also asked me the same:
“Why doesn’t your hair look like your sister’s?”
And he made fun of me when I walked him through my curly hair routine.

I love my hair,
And I don’t like hurting anybody’s feelings when they comment negatively on it,
But I have to, because they’re ignorant.