Some days we bloom,
But other days your curls drive me insane.
Round and round they go,
So springing and tight.
To stretch it’s a fight,
The heat you don’t like.
The straightness is absurd,
Your curls are your home.
To some it’s a mess,
But its beauty to your eyes.
Conforming you hate,
As you love to stand out.
Resisting every pull and tug,
You quickly retract.
No cream is enough to keep you tame,
Water you thirst for to soften your mane.
Length, length, length,
You couldn’t care less.
Your strength is in those curls,
That shrink to a height of their own.
Blossom you will,
For it’s in your nature.
As thick as you maybe,
You’ll always leave room for more.
Osaruthomo 
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