I cut my braids to cut off bad spirits. I cut my braids for a “new do.” I cut my braids as you cut from my history. Adding pieces to coincide with your “convinced history.” I cut my braids to breathe better. I cut my braids to reach my natural form, my natural hair. My natural divinity. What is your version of natural? I cut my braids like an apple tree. I cut my braids and pass them around as food. Food for thought. I cut my braids off and you take my scissors away from me. You threw them into the Atlantic for them to rust. I cut my braids off to protect my vines. My apple tree has to be cut to be protected. If you dared to do the same, I would be as different from an apple tree as white from black. I cut my braids to begin a new person. Transforming from a pupal stage into a butterfly. You cutting my braids is cutting my wings.
