My Hair, Your Hair

Please don't let this minimalise

All the bullshit you endure

But they ask to touch my hair, too

Is it real?

They always ask

As opposed to a hologram?

I respond sarcastically

I hear the snide comments

The profiling

Based purely

On hair I didn't ask for

When the sun brings out

Its warmest tones

I'm accused of being a "bottle red"

All because it wasn't

Quite so pigmented

In the winter

No, I don't take the same abuse

That you endure

That's not the intent of my words

I'm not here to undermine

Your suffering

It's bullshit what you go through

Quite frankly

It pisses me off

Makes everyone of my particular shade

Look like an asshole

And makes everyone of

Well, basically any shade darker

Feel inadequate

And that's fucked up

My purpose

Is to point out

That we're sisters you and I

Both of our queenly crowns

Are made of keratin

Although pigmented differently

And curled not quite the same

It's made up of the same stuff

And at the deepest level

It's star dust

Because we are magical

Celestial

Intergalactic

Goddesses

Wear your hair

As I wear mine

Like the crown that it is

In any style you choose

Because you are beautiful

You be the African Queen

I'll be the Scottish one

We can be friends

And rule this world together