Good Hair
A Poem by www.thebrowngirldilemma.com

Good hair is the crown God wove with His own hands,
A tapestry of coils, curls, kinks, and strands,
A language spoken in spirals and waves,
A history braided through mothers and graves.

Good hair is the rhythm of roots that rise,
Defying gravity, touching the skies,
A halo of strength that the world once denied,
Yet still blooms boldly with unbroken pride.

Good hair is Sunday mornings with warm oil’s sheen,
Auntie’s hands parting like a quiet routine,
The pull, the twist, the tender care,
Love is passed down in every braid we wear.

Good hair is shrinkage—magic in motion—
A spring of life, a living ocean,
Proof that what looks small can expand with grace,
Proof of resilience woven in place.

Good hair is softness wrapped in a tough embrace,
A garden of texture no copy can trace,
A map of identity, sacred and true,
A signature style the Creator drew.

Good hair is locs that speak of time,
Twists that whisper, “I am divine,”
Afros that rise like a new dawn’s fire,
Edges that swoop with artistic desire.

Good hair is the right to choose,
To press, to braid, to twist, to fuse,
To rock it natural or wear it long,
Each style a verse in a freedom song.

Good hair is not what others decide—
Not a scale, not a standard, not a measure of pride.
Good hair is the hair God placed on your head,
Alive with stories your ancestors said.

Good hair is heritage, holy and deep,
A beauty the world tried to steal but couldn’t keep,
A reflection of glory, regal and rare—
You don’t have good hair.
You have good hair.