What if my hair were a wild flower that grew in unknown forests?
What if my hair woke up crying to be let free?
What if my hair called for freedom in the podiums of my soul?
What if my hair was a black rose that has never asked anyone to iron it, flatten it, silk it and color it?
What if my hair is the glory and perfection of the human race?
What if I let my hair be wild and free and perfect?
What if my hair is the rarest of Black Roses?
Dark, like night
Dark, like dawn
Dark, Like the beginning of the world.
Dark, like when life was born.
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