My Mother’s Hair

"When I was your age, I wished to look like you."- a mother's childhood heartache reconciles

into comfort.

My mother’s hair doesn't look like mine

Her skin

A deeper tone.

But when I look in the mirror

I am she.

I am the girl she wished to be

When she was me.

A girl

Who was lied to when society said

Her hair wasn't good

Enough.

Her skin not light

Enough.

Eyes not bright

Enough.

So somehow

The universe manifested all those dreams

Pouring them into me.

But that didn't mean I was

Free.

For I am

She.

Dreaming

Scheming

Of ways to be

Not me.

To be someone else's pretty.

You see

We carried a torch of

Insecurity

That blinded us to our

Beauty

And burned away the idea that

Maybe we are good

Enough.

Now

My heat tolerance may be

High

But that is a

flame

I no longer wish to

feed.

For I see that

I am she.

The magnificent beauty

Who made

me.

So mommy

Child

Dry your eyes

For

We

Have

Been

Set

Free.

...