After all this time,
after what’s been said and done,
I am not content.

For so long,
so long,
what I thought was missing
from my life was love;

but not just any kind of love
—a colorful love.

The kind of love that isn’t cliché
that isn’t written about at 3 a.m.
the isn’t dreamed of in the middle of the day

a colorful

the bring-a-tear-to-my-eye kind of love,
the let-me-feel-it-upon-my-thigh kind of love,
the you-are-perfect-to-me kind of love

because you know
and I know
that perfection is subjective.
For so long,
so long,
what I thought was missing from my life was love,
a romantic partner.

I wanted to be touched,
I wanted to be kissed,
I wanted to be caressed,
I wanted to be licked.

Picture that:
a young black man
with a scruffy beard
and poems at his fingertips
wanting to be held,
Does it get
more real
than this?

For so long,
so long.
But I realize now
after 48 haiku

that it was not only love that I sought after
but my willingness to submit
myself to my artistry.
myself to the morning,
myself to the afternoon,  
to the bus rides, to the night,
to someone,

my willingness to submit
myself to the pen
and return to it
again and again and again.

—  C.O.L.O.U.R.S. // J. Harris

The Black body, more so of women, have stood on the opposite side of the narrow Eurocentric standards of beauty. Black hairstyles have defiantly rebelled against and even when straightened added creative magic of Blackness and Boldness. 

Black hair, whether relaxed or natural, locked or shaven is beautiful. Black women are beautiful.