“Blowing Dandelions” An original poem by Abigail Ndikum

Indira Nzerue

Abigail Ndikum—
“Blowing Dandelions”
I wish I had curly hair
Spiraling strands that wrap perfectly around my index finger
Each perfect curl coming together in one huge ‘fro
A ‘fro big enough to block all the hate from the world.
But instead I was stuck with this mess of kinky, African Hair.
Hair so independent it tells gravity
“F*** you!”
Hair so unruly it breaks combs
Hair so different that people ask,
“Can I touch your hair?”
I mean,
Don’t get me wrong,
I’m grateful I even have hair.
Yet I would die for curls
Curls that don’t shrink into coils when you add water
Curls that reveal themselves without the need of a definer
Curls that make people stop, take a double look, and say,
“Dang, I wish I had her hair.”
Yet I wish I was like my coils.
Independent enough to not give a damn of what people think of me,
Strong enough to break stereotypes of how I should act,
And so different that people stop, take a double look, and say,
“Dang, I wish I was like her.”
I’ve blown numerous dandelions
Wishing for something,
A little thing called Confidence.