You had a love/hate relationship with your natrual hair. Growing up in a affluent area as one of the few black families, throughout your childhood you had your hair pulled and straightened to hide your natrual curls from pre school to your high school graduation.
Nowadays, you wore a sew in weave, wanting to hide your real hair. You had bought into the idea that they weren’t something to applaud, that men wouldn’t find beautiful, that you weren’t beautiful.
Your boyfriend, T'Challa found you to be ‘the most beautiful person he’d ever met’ - his words, not yours and was sad to see that you didn’t see what he saw all the time. The biggest insecurity he found you had was with your hair.
He saw you wearing your weaves as some sort of wall not just between the two of you but between who you wanted to be and who you really were and while he saw some of who you really were through your personality, he wanted the real you.
He approached you while you were in your master bathroom, in your tank top and shorts you wore to bed, standing at the sink moisturisingyour face.
He wrapped his arms around your torso and peppered kisses on your shoulder and neck.
“Hey baby” You greeted in tired voice. He hummed in response.
“You know how much I love you, don’t you?” You nodded silently and he turned you to face him so you were leaning on the edge of the sink, his hands resting on your hips.
“I love everything about you but what I don’t love is that you are only showing me part of you” You stiffened slightly, knowing what he was talking about but you remained silent “I want you to know that when you are with me, you can be you, emotionally” He then brushed a strand of hair out of your face" “And physically. I can’t tell you what to do, I will respect whatever decision you make and will love you as always but for what is worth, I would like to see the woman underneath”
T'Challa kissed your forehead and before he left said: "Just because your beauty is not mass produced that does not mean it does not fill every space you enter"
You awoke early the next morning. You lied, eyes wide open, still thinking over the words of your boyfriend team night before. You looked over at the shirtless prince who was fast asleep, chiseled chest rising up and down slowly. He said he would love you no matter what you did but after around half an hour of thinking, yourmind was made.
You slowly got up, not wanting to wake him and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You looked in the mirror, and bent your head slightly to see where the weave was sewn in and grabbing a metal tailed comb, you began to get it out of your hair.
When it was out you sighed in…relief. You felt free as if you were undoing rope that had been binding you for years. You started on another and another and did not stop
T'Challa woke up and rolled over, expecting you to be there but was surprised to find your side of the bed cold. He rubbed his eyes before standing up and streching before turning around and what he saw next surprised him.
You walked out of the bathroom, head bowed shyly as the two of you made your way to each other. Your hair was no longer the wavy weave you had chosen but a small afro of curls that you had hidden away for so long. You looked up at him to find him smiling softly at you.
He gently pulled at a curl, watching it bounce back, causing you both to chuckle. His hands then cupped your face.
“Nice to meet you, (y/n)” T'Challa said
“Nice to meet you two” You replied before he pulled you into a loving yet intense kiss. He then kissed your hair, all over, triggering a delighted giggle from you before he pulled you into a hug.
“I love you” You said, kissing his shoulder then resting your head on it.
“I love you too” T'Challa replied. And you always knew he did.
“Black Girls Cry Too” (2015) Apart of my “Not mixed just exotic” series.
1B wavy weave hair stuffed in three empty pill bottles, Pink wall paint.
There are dozens of black women that stuffer from mental illness in silence because in our culture it is seen as taboo to feel anything other than joy for God and our families. This piece is for all the black women and girls that are suffering in silence and don’t have the wonderful support system that I have. It’s also for me. I’m known for being a very funny and loud person but sometimes I cry too. And that’s okay. Being this way doesn’t make us weak. Black girls cry too and don’t let the world tell you different, you are allowed to break or be broken.
Last night I showed my (non black) roommates a big fluffy crochet braid hairstyle that I want. They’ve only seen me with straight/wavy weaves. They weren’t fond of it, but whatever. But one of them, who has curly hair, decided to to tell me all about how if you have curly hair you HAVE to straighten it for co-op (our school’s internship program). And how she has a white friend with extremely kinky curls had to straighten hers. I suggested that I could put it a bun and she still said it “wasn’t respectable” in the field I study. I cited many black lawyers and policy makers with natural hair, including the former State Senator of Missouri. Her response was “Well you aren’t going to be a Senator.” Is it just me or did she have me fucked up? I have held many jobs and as long as I’ve kept my hair out of my face, no one has ever told me I HAVE TO have straight hair.