You Say

You say you like my curly hair

and the way that it stands out,

but the commitment and care

is something you could do without. 

You say you like my voice

but don’t like it when I speak,

and if it were your choice

would muzzle my mystique.

You say you like me at times,

when I’m open to your critiques,

which cluster in my eyes,

and sizzle down my cheeks. 

You admired my chaotic curls

and the way that they hung,

while resenting the twirls

of my disposition and tongue. 

Every strand has a story,

whether grayed out or not,

and is a swirling history

of all my battles fought.

Battles you’d rather not hear,

Battles you’d rather not see,

despite being the leader

and turning a blind decree. 

You say you like me

but I don’t think that you do.

Because everything I am,

seems to repulse you. 

You say you like my curly hair

as you place me on your shelf,

my commitment and care

has always been with myself.