Have you ever second-guessed yourself? 

Ever felt self-conscious about a haircut or outfit?

I was getting ready with my friend, Daphne. 

We were making funny videos, trying on outfits, and listening to music.

I was wearing mom jeans and my favorite sweatshirt. 

It was a normal day.

The sun was beautifully setting, 

exemplifying a deep blue color. 

Running to approach my friends that were sitting in the commons 

eating dinner, 

slurping on milkshakes like they were going out of style. 

Running around, bursting laughing…

just like a normal day. 

Sitting in the theatre, 

sharing some snacks that we found in our teacher’s office, 

holding signs that say the main character's name, 

mine was the best.

Looking at the pictures Daphne and I took while waiting for the show to begin.

“My hair isn't looking too bad, right?” I said to Daphne. “No, it looks good! Don't stress about it!”.

A woman I do not know sits behind me.  

She has black hair like me

and I notice she is wearing similar mom jeans. 

She picks up a piece of my hair. 

I flinch. 

This is not a big deal, but what does she have to say?

She examines my hair, 

that braid, 

feeling the texture, like a critic of some sort, 

looking at that piece of hair like it’s displayed in a museum. 

“I wish I could do this!! How do you get it so perfect?”

“Was that a compliment?”

I feel like a cartoon version of myself, 

thinking bubbles popping up, 

hovering around my head. 

“Should I say thank you?” 

“Should I tell her that was wrong?” 

“Should I ignore her?” 

I sit there at a loss of words, 

not knowing how to express myself. 

So I say thank you,

bashfully,

with a smile on my face to mask the uncomfortable yet confused feeling I had. 

---------------------------------------------------

In a field of roses, 

red with their luxurious folds. 

There is one sunflower, 

brownish-yellow peddles surrounding the brown pit. 

I felt like that one sunflower. 

I think back to when I was younger, 

in elementary school. 

Wearing my cornrows, 

colorful braids, 

my twists,

not giving a care in the world because these styles protected my mixed, afro-textured hair.

I never thought that I was to be examined, 

to be viewed in the way a kid views fish through the glass of an aquarium. 

This is deeper. 

Referring to the history and current time of black women's expression through their crowns, 

 their afros. 

Not being questioned 

“Do you wash your hair?” 

“Does it hurt when you get your hair braided?” 

“Is that your real hair?”. 

Before I used to feel disrespected by these questions, 

I used to feel targeted, 

stared at for minutes and seconds, 

and interviewed as if on a reality TV show. 

As much as this happens

“When you take your braids out, is it crazy wild?”, 

the valid question is how can I reflect on this moment. 

Should I be upset, frustrated, complimented, or proud…

The poet Audre Lorde wrote:

“It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.” 

People rather look at what others have, 

TRYING TO BE THAT PERSON, 

but don't realize their own angelic features, 

celebrating and respecting boundaries and expressions. 

I know who I am, 

what I stand for, 

and what I represent. 

I'm not here to be examined if I am different from you, 

but rather welcomed.

“Thank you, but please ask permission before touching my hair. I like your mom-jeans though.”

My hair is always changing,

 representing my change and maturity.

I have bloomed like a sunflower on the first day of spring, 

viewing the world in a positive way.