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Held Hostage By Curls, A Poem

One protruding curl adorned her head till
two,She  witnessed  others  with defective hair
Uncaringly, she waddled with her swayingholding a secret desire to straighten out
blonde  lock,there  lives  too.
A  baby girl too busy with dolls and cradlesShe knew, Straight Hair was at the root of
all  problems.And  then  it  happened.
to be held hostage by curls.Four years later
she received twenty-four homemade ringlets byThe  unthinkable.
mom,
The  event  that  could  not  be  forecast.
But  its  then  she  noticed...
The most unpredictable moment in her
Her friends had long, straight, shiny lockshistory.
of  perfection
After  46  years  of  never failing herself,
She  wanted  that,  but  hers  curled  !!
she had forgotten to elasticize her mound of
So began the days of scotched taped bangsglitches  after  swimming.
and  blow  dryers.
Side tracked like she had never been, her
It was time to straighten her life out.Otherhair  dried:
girls had bouncing hair without a single
wrinkle,  without  a  zig,  without  effort.On  its  own.  without  any  tools of chore.
But her hair became a masterpiece canvass ofAs her husband approached, mouth hanging
trial  and  error.open  like  a  feeding  trout,
However, the magic words, "How To Straightenhe blurted, "Your Hair Hon!, I like it, it
Your  Hair"looks great"The Hair General was weak kneed.
Ready  to  fall.
written  in a Blow-Dryer-Manual-To-Idealism,
Eyes tightly closed, she courageously headed
would become her ticket to conformity.Ittowards  her  reflection,
worked.
Before  plunging  into  truth,
Wow, her curls transformed into streaming
stands  of  shining  fullnessshe cautiously peeked through the corner of
her  right  eye,
Farah  hair,  incredible  Farah  hair.
With her mouth hanging open like a feeding
Now  the  lioness of straightness was Queen.trout,
Except  when  it  rained.her  brain  processed  what  must have been,
Perfect hair was a task only for the1000 twisted zags of reality.This wasn't for
willing.the faint of heart, but the General could do
it.  She  knew  it.
Swimming became a chronically planned
de-curling  event.She forced both eyes open into a stare that
lasted  46  years  for  one  second.
"The bad hair weekend", also known as
"Camping",  wasShe gently touched her sheep head, feeling
each  kink,  for  the  very  first  time.
a militaristic regiment of self nurturing
for the hair flawed.She could not show herHer swirls had never been left to their own
corkscrewed inadequacy in its nakedness. Notdevices.  Never.
Ever.
She was witnessing a first.Now you can look
Campfire sing songs by angelic girls andin  the  top  left  hand side of her dresser,
their  bouncing  mounds  of  straight,
Among her keepsakes sits a dusty blow dryer
flat, free-swaying weather resistant quaffsand  a  perfectly  good  flat  iron.
of  silk
From time to time she reflectively looks in
made her project of fulfillment a missionon  them.
for  the  mentally  trained.
She  even  ponders  their use again someday.
Ready to securely paste her frizz mountain
to  her  head,  she  always  cameBut she has discovered something so cutting
edge  it  holds  her  back:
equipped with camping's mandatory primary
tools, "elastic bands".Backpacking throughShe  cannot  go  back  to  who  she  is not.
Europe was no match for the disciplined
straightener.Her individuality, her confidence, her
smile,  her  soul,
Dual powered blow dryers, multi-colored
elastics,  back-up  cream-rinse,  andher giving nature is what makes her
beautiful.
lastly the most coveted travel tool known to
mankind,  the  electrical  adaptor.She is her own person, and she appreciates,
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,
You see, she was the General Extraordinaire
of Straight Hair and she knew it.Nothing, notthat Curls don't make or break the
one single thing could prevent The Straightgirl.Today she rinses, repeats, applies leave
Hair  Plan  from  being  executed.in  conditioner,  muffles  her  curlicues,
The births of four sons required carefullylooks  into the mirror and knows who she is:
packed  hospital  bags.
A grown woman, the lioness of curly, the
Days of one hundred percent humidity, alsoembracer  of  self,
known  as  'Mission-Prevent-Insanity',
too busy to be held hostage by curls.
were  only  a  challenge  for  the  bald.



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