My braids are too tight. At least that is my perception at this moment in time. Not because they are causing me pain, but because they make my mind squint to see things in a manner I have never seen them before.
My braids are too tight because suddenly my view is one of under-appreciation, expectation and demands that do not respect my value or my time.
These visions are foreign to me. They can only be an apparition in my imagination; and the result of my brain being squeezed into delusion by hair extensions that have taken over the way I see things—in my personal rear view mirror.
Someone wake me. Pat the top of my head and tell me it is all just a dream—fermented in a misconception—yeah that’s what I choose to believe, for that is the only plausible reality.
It’s got to be the braids!
The Nigerian woman got carried away when she practiced her craft on my head while cursing in the phone angrily at her lover. Within her steady fingers lay a concoction that changed my perception—her curse was laid within each wrap of synthetic hair she attached to my head—and here it lies…obstructing my vision. That’s the only answer.
That’s what I tell myself.
It’s what I believe.
My braids are too tight is a much easier pill to swallow in answering why I can finally see that I’m being taken for granted while my needs are not being met; and ultimately are being ignored. A tensed head is the only response conceivable as to why I see myself being mentally abused in the form of perceived entitlement and subtle disrespect.
None of this is really happening. The way I see the world is not really how it seems. It’s all just a bad dream.
My braids are too tight. I pray that is the culprit for my mental tormentor of the night.
Otherwise, I have to realize…that everything I am seeing—today, for the first time—is not a figment of my mind. Truth be told, I have to face the fact that I am just too blind to accept the possibility that there’s nothing wrong with my hair; but that there is something really wrong with my reality.
