Going back to my roots

Going back to my roots

Going back to my hard, black roots, my thick, course roots,

My roots that trail back to ancestral shame yet honor,

A history that’s not so smooth but rich, powerful and strong,

I grew up with my hair in the wind, running and playing all day

Not caring a thing, face full of giggles, dress covered in clay

And it was someone else’s job to comb my nappy head,

Mama would be the one to pull out the pony tails just before I went into bed,

It wasn’t a surprise, when mama started to iron and flatten my hair,

With hot combs and hot grease, to put my hair all up in one,

And I happily thought the hair beauty battle was won,

But then came perm, relaxers and such things,

And for some years I felt secure emulating TV hairstyles and beings,

And then,  I became unsure of my true identity, who was I suppose to be?

my hair  started to break, got dry and brittle

Wasn’t always falling in place, felt thin and trickle,

Then came the need to relax every month or so,

Or else my kinky roots would eventually show, and for years I did,

I weaved, braided, even wore a wig,

Don’t get me wrong, these hairstyles are not bad or wrong,

But I’m talking of me, and of the day that I decided to go back natural,

That day I embraced my kinky curls and waves,

I felt a certain level of freedom and beauty like I once did,

Back in the day when I was a kid,

Yes, there are days my hair gets burdensome and wild

It’s Course and rough ,but I take pride in knowing I grew this, it’s all mine  of course!

Written by Laurna Guiste


Make me over

You want to paint me, reconstruct me into one of your polished pedestals,

You desire to pin me up against your wall because I am a masterpiece,

Your hands slowly carving out my insides,

Painting me blue, green, red..

Planting beautiful flowers on the outside, but inside, like a sepulcher I feel dead,

You carve me out in wood, because you know I can be burnt,

I keep going through the same process,

Because it’s a lesson I haven’t learnt.

Written by

Laurna Guiste

He is

Lord I know he is broken, torn apart, hurt by chance,

But here he is crying out to you, for he needs you,

His life is shattered and he needs to know he is loved,

He needs to feel your touch, as his heart bleeds and aches for you Lord,

He is wounded, bruised sort of like you were bruised and his panting,

Gasping for air for he feels like he’s drowning in sin,

And he can’t seem to find a way out, he wants to serve you

But he gets scared; he doesn’t know what to do,

Addictions have chained him, he’s caving in

In a world that hates him, he screams within,

Lord I pray that you touch him and set him free,

Let Him know you care and feel your love,

May you heal his hurt and may he  look above,

Find help and strength to make it through,

And may he be changed as he looks to you,

May your blood cleanse and make him knew,

For I know your love is real and there is nothing you can’t do.

Written by

Laurna Guiste