Rage Almighty – “Hair”


So I spent most of the day trying to flush yesterday’s alcohol
out of my body. I was in Tampa last night. The turn up last night was real. I was up early this morning trying to flush yesterday’s alcohol
out of my body. I was in Starbucks, buying
my expensive-ass coffee, and this woman, she had
this little stupid-ass grin and little stupid-ass face. I knew exactly what she wanted, and I knew exactly what was
going to happen next. She maneuvered that hole
at the bottom of her head to ask me, “Can I touch your hair?” Now keep in mind, she was already
touching my hair while she was asking me
if she could touch my hair– and I’m not gonna say her race
’cause race has nothing to do with this poem– she’s white– and says, “Oh my goodness,
it doesn’t feel dry at all.” Listen, no my hair isn’t dry
or unkempt and contrary to your belief, it smells amazing. I’m black, us black folk have hair of wool, skin of bronze, eyes like fire aflame. These brass feet will Sparta
kick you in the chest if you ever touch my godliness
without my permission. You can’t touch my hair
because I am not your motherfuckin’ pet or specimen at a zoo. Venus Hottentot told me
to take it or nah, and as an invitation to curiosity,
your hands are dirty. Don’t touch me
with your backhanded compliments. My history begins in my roots. I let my culture drink my crown
while the tips of millennia rest on my shoulders. There are strands of stories
scripted at the top of my back and, no, you can’t manhandle
my mother’s narrative. I’m protective over my temple. That’s why I keep my birthright. I got tired of people stealing my culture
so I locked my hair so you can’t get inside of it. Don’t touch my hair. I’m still cleaning your ancestors’
fingerprints off of it. This is not just a hair,
this is a heritage, a representation of who we are. We are black, we are adaptable, we were born with thick skin
to safeguard our hearts and hands, on our tongues that clap back. Don’t touch my hair
unless you know each lock by its name. See, this is Harriet, this is Henrietta,
this is Oprah, this is Marley, this is Kendrick, this is Cole, this is Blue Ivy, this is Ghana, this is Nigeria, this is Kenya. All of it is Africa. There’s a crescent continent
from my spine to the top of my back so I wear my hair like a sycamore fig
away from the banks of the Middle Passage. Don’t forget where you came from,
and don’t forget where you going. And don’t you ever, ever forget
the women who twist, who cut, who primp, who weave, the women who sleep
uncomfortably like this and sit in the same spot for hours
just to get their hair right for nobody else but themselves
and their family. Myself and my family is
not your goddamn sideshow or to be fondled
in the middle of Starbucks while I am hung the fuck over. So, no, Cruella de Vil, you cannot
touch my hair with your rude ass. (cheers and applause)

12 Replies to “Rage Almighty – “Hair”

  1. this poem is me on the inside whenever someone touches my hair, and i’ve wanted to be like this on the outside whenever it happens but i am just so sick and tired of it that i can’t be bothered anymore

  2. My friend would run his fingers through his (very new) girlfriends hair. I would tell him “don’t touch people’s hair, she doesn’t know where your hands have been” and he’d say “ oh, she doesn’t mind” I knew that was just the line she told everyone.

  3. This made me smile☺. I love my natural African hair, kinky as it is. I love how you own your blackness. It's poetry like this that inspires me to make such kind of poetry in my channel, owning all about us and being proud of it

  4. Been black fr 44 yrs & no one has ever tried or asked to touch my hair. But I do have don't fuQ wit me face. Thank God!

  5. hey, great poem! ❤️I'm new to YouTube if your into poetry I've been writing since January and reading 📖 love to see you come by and tell me what you think 🙂 ❤️

  6. I honestly have had black and white people touch my hair I ain’t for it. Keep your hands to yourself. That’s just as bad to me as a random stranger came and slapped my butt just don’t.

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