Erin Crittendon, Sophomore English major from Desoto, Texas.
Creamy Crack
Ah, it’s Tuesday another day
Another chair
Another hot comb
Another ply of despair.
I sit there waiting for my appointment to begin
Is it my choice, no.
But my mother insists,
She has a solution of what would
Fix me, and make me “manageable.”
Does that include a custard,
A edge control
Or even a crème
Yes,
But it’s not the crème you were thinking.
See black people have what you call the crème that sizzles
Burns,
And Smells.
The crème that burns all your thoughts away
But still make you feel “pretty”.
Smells like rotten eggs
Just screaming for me to scratch my scalp
All I knew is that there’s 2 hours of pain
But two weeks of beauty and bliss.
Girl, does it get rid of those naps
And gives you that Meghan good look.
Makes you feel like a white girl
Yet it’s as stiff as a board.
It wasn’t until I became older,
That the little girls on the boxes
didn’t do what I did.
I looked up one day and saw that the crème
Nearly disintegrated my hair
Made it dry,
Brittle,
And broke.
Last came the scissors,
And I soon became a
Found women.
A real woman.
A natural woman.
No artificial colors, preservatives, or dyes honey.
That day
I felt beautiful for the first time in my life.