Chapter 77 : Poetry : Pretty Curls

I fought each strand with every stroke,

Dreaming of locks that were smooth and never broke.

Brushed and brushed to make them straight,

Unaware of the beauty innate.

But time whispered truths so kind,

Revealing grace I couldn't find.

Now my curls, wild and free,

Are the truest reflection of me.

I fought each strand with every stroke,

In search of beauty, my spirit broke.

I envied the sleek, the glossy shine,

Yet missed the magic that was mine.

Each curl a story, each twist a form.

In chasing trends, I couldn’t see,

Years rolled by and time has changed,

Now I wear my curls with pride.

Curls, I love you ♡

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