I have decided to give you your flowers while you’re still here. A wonder–a mystic amongst Gods and the ungodly. You have always been captivating. I never wanted to sing. I never wanted to dance. But I have always wanted to write, and you paved the way for me to have this voice–my voice in a world of chaotic flows and shiftless thoughts. You have conquered a sea of endless pain and lived to testify.
Millions of people sing your songs at the top of their lungs–breaths poured into the air that land at your feet. We still stand in awe of you; so incredibly in love with you, we speak your name . . . Tina.
Legends can be born To be what legends should be You are so much more
I wrote this poem and shared it here on November 26, 2022, when this amazing Queen was still breathing. She still lives. She always will. Rest in Power.
The kids play Marco Polo without a pool Their little hands flail wildly in the October sun No one is IT Everyone chases the sound of voices unsure of what they’re trying to find
The Delivery Guy Is Dyslexic
243 is 234 to a keen set of eyes buried in the head of an amazing human being yet try as I might I can’t be in two places at one time
However, he doesn’t know this My food sits in front of a neighbor’s door waiting for me to retrieve it I send a message through the app explaining the dilemma
The digital approval of a refund chimes in I really just want to eat what I ordered without the hassle |but I’m also empathetic to the plight of one’s struggle I’ll order again tomorrow
The Dog Does Not Approve of the New Arrangement
I was feeling frisky the other night so I decided to rearrange the living room furniture Afterward, I cleaned and noticed the dog focused on this new maze inside her home
She does not approve
I nod satisfied with what I’d accomplished and my little friend huffs in disgust She sniffs the furniture for clues of sameness — I explain everything is still here
She tilts her head up to look in my direction and I can’t help but feel as though I’m being graded on my performance
I did not pass her test
This Is Not Bravery
I don’t think it brave to exist in skin the color of spilled lies and wake up to a face that never changes
I didn’t ask to bleed the same blood yet I do and authorities Other me before I can utter a word
It is not bravery knowing I can die for making a sharp right turn without a signal in a car registered in my name with all the updated paperwork
One false move and I could be hashtagged
The type of privilege that offers safety is what I envision for everyone but centuries of racism begs to have its face at the ball of life No one’s dancing . . . we’re all too afraid to move
Phase IV: I marvel at the length, and I am in love with every strand
Interlocked and cornrowed again. Photo Collage Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
I continue to be amazed by this journey. The path is curvy with twists and turns, and on some days, I am unsure where we (Ájá & I) are headed, but I am glad we are on our way.
On Sunday, May 07, 2023, my cousin had the tedious task of washing, re-sectioning, and interlocking my hair. I am no stranger to these methods now; I am a soldier on a familiar battleground, and the war is almost at its end.
Just under two months after my last wash and interlocking session, I am greeted by more length and a fuller head of hair.
There is peace in the calming hands of another
My cousin does an incredible job with my hair. When she washes it, my soul is moved. I can feel the cleansing process while it’s taking place, and my mind is at ease. She scratches it in sections and pays attention to the dryer spots.
She is like a surgeon — the way she dances around my head with her fingers; plotting the best ways to relieve itching. My hair always feels ten times cleaner and lighter after her hands have massaged my head.
She is thorough yet gentle with just the right amount of force to push away dirt and dandruff buildup. It’s fascinating — the washing process. I am not only in an impeccably relaxed state, but I am also overcome with serenity and joy.
When my hair is clean, I know the next steps are to interlock each section and pull any new growth into its rightful places for continued growth and locking.
With every session, my anticipation heightens
Growth and thickness. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
During every interlocking session, my anxiety builds. I am anxious to see the outcome. However, there is also an intense amount of patience — knowing that this process provides added length and replenishes the hair as well.
I wish I had the words to describe how I feel walking around with an ever-changing head of hair. I do not.
We started this process as microlocs, but my hair has loc’d in a way that is clearly its own. My locs will probably be bigger than microlocs or even sisterlocks, and I am all right with this.
Whatever Ájá wants to do, I am on board with it! This transition is one I signed up for and perfection was not in the cards.
I want to see what the end of the year will bring when we make it to a full year of interlocking and patiently waiting.
I want to know what December 2023 Ájá will look like. And I know with my cousin’s hands creating, washing, and maintaining my crown of glory, the sight will be one to see.
I marvel at the length, and I am in love with every strand
My hair is growing. It flows on its own and lands just above the nape of my neck. There are sections that are longer than others, but this is to be expected, as I am also growing out a short haircut.
I stare at myself in the mirror. I gaze at my graying edges and perimeter, and I am wooed by these changes.
New nose ring (had the old stud switched out to the one). Graying all around. Locs doing what they want to. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
I am not the same woman. I am changing along with my hair, and every day brings a newer side to me which I am eager to embrace.
The Powers That Be promoted me at work. They have invited me to be a part of our Engagement Team. These novel happenings are keeping me sane and giving me hope for a brighter future.
There is still a deep pain from the loss of my beloved cousin early last year, but I am moving along on a happier note.
I no longer carry grief in my pockets. I hold her memory close to my heart, sit in my favorite chair, and twist my hair because of a new habit.
And with each twisted strand, I think of Chrissy, and I wonder if she’s enjoying this journey with me, too.
I am happy with Ájá’s growth. I admire the length of my hair, and I long to see how long it will get before I become tired of it being too long.
I don’t foresee this happening. I have happily embraced every phase so far. I am positive this will continue.
December 11, 2023, will be one full year
At the end of this year, I will share where my hair journey has taken me.
One year of growing locs and maintaining them is steadily approaching. I am patient as I mark each day off on my calendar.
I have a few pieces of hair that have already locked and my heart flutters at the sight of them.
I am on my way to loving a full head of dreadlocks, and my soul can do nothing but smile.
Transitioning hair is a topic I love to discuss now. There will be more to come.
Playing with the camera. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
birthday tip-toed into the morning sun shadows, greeted me with open arms, and begged me to get up and play with it.
one more year is here to plaster me in hope and grind me down to a newer version of myself I’ve been shelving for decades.
I tell it I’ll surrender under one condition, and that’s if it’ll give me fifteen minutes in a room with my dead cousin, unbothered by a world that keeps shifting with every breath I take.
it’s an interrogation of sorts; how I attempt to negotiate getting older and being happy while doing it, instead of drowning myself in sadness.
“I’m better now. I’m healing. I’m giving myself the grace everyone says I should.”
and time is offering me an extended contract with every bell and whistle I prayed for, and I don’t know if I should sign.
but there’s hope for me yet. I’ve made it to 43, and I do not feel the same.
“This is good”, I tell myself. “This is very good.”
A Cornered Gurl 
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