The Chair

Excuse me I’ve been sitting here
Sitting here waiting
Waiting In this chair
What chair you say?

The chair I have come to detest
Detest what it symbolizes
It’s a symbol of self loath
Self loath I didn't know I had

You see I was raised by a mother
A mother that didn't care
Didn't care for the fro
And the naps on her head

She passed along her hatred
Hatred for the hair that grew
Grew upon my hair so strong
Strong until it was weakened

Weakened by the straightening tools
The tools of torture for the hair
Hair that I thought needed to be managed
Managed at the first sight of growth

First there came the comb
The comb of pressing fire
Fire cream came next
You know that cream of chemicals

Then there came Jheri
Jheri curl with all the mess
The mess of activator and drips
Dripping and staining everything in sight

Jheri's World of curls ended
Ended with a second onset of cream fire
Cream fire that has lead me here
Here in this chair

So if you'll excuse me
Excuse me from this chair
I've decided to live free
Free and no longer bound to the chair.

© C. Stinson 2008-2010