Free my Hair

Our hair is not silent.

Not in history books.
Secret stories. Music stories. Family stories.
It speaks before we do.

Our hair remembers ships and drums,
heat, hands, crossings.
Growing like resistance,
It never asked permission.

Some see mess.
Some see a crown.

Have you never seen the Caribbean?
Nothing there grows small.
Everything reaches for the light.

The Caribbean is a small map of the world.
Africa, India, Europe, the Americas,
all meeting in one sea.

Many kingdoms.
Many textures.
Many roots.
One sun.

Let every curl take space
like a palm tree on the horizon.
No erase.
No disgrace.

For years it was styled
to fit frames and square offices,
but our hair was never made
for small spaces.

It was made for big tables.
For high ceilings.
For being heard.
For freedom.

Mangrove roots. Sea air.

Let it be tall.
Let it be wide.
Let it be.

Free my hair.

Virginie Lentulus


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