My legs
so hairy.
Long and wiry
my hair. Before
I used Nair, used a blade
to my fuzz, I fought for my hair.
This chica in my middle
school- she had hair long as a mane.
Yoli
se llamaba,
she didn’t like me
and she liked my hairiness even less.
Don’t know what
or how my hairy mess
messed with her.
Fuzzy upper lip,
already mentioned her mane
and arms just as furry as mine
but she was lighter
so hers looked thick
like espinas de nopal.
Hair a thorn on her side
and she took it out on my
on me on mine- hair.
So fine and light, airy almost
never bothered me
until she started airing my business
drawing attention to my…
getting attention from my…
feeling better at my-
expensive, she cost me a lot
of time and frustration. Nervousness
during P.E. cause I knew
she’d see me
in my green with gold trimmed school
shorts and launch her words
that crawled up my spine
like an army of ants
me trying to resist
not to itch.
I resisted
the anger
and churned it into shame.
Things got slippery for me
didn’t feel good in my skin
in fact I shaved part of my skin
off trying to change me.
My little ankle
round como semilla de durazno
not ready for the steal
my hand not rehearsed
didn't hold still
and I peeled
I saw it crinkle like a carrot’s
and then my skin turned white
as a bar of soap and white dots
burst like raspberries. I tried
to stretch my tiny thin
skin out gently
over the bursts of velvety
blood snailing its way down
to the tub then rolling down
its side like an avalanche
till it faded out into the water
then down the drain. I put the blade down
my ankle stung and my wet skin
got goose bumps.
My ankle stung for the rest
of my shower. I wasn’t successful
at getting rid of my hair not as successful
as her words getting under my skin
now exposed. I felt exposed. No one
knew about my cut but it was my marker
that I wanted to change me.
Her words made me want to change me.
She chased me for the last time on the courtyard.
That P.E. day marked the beginning of our truce.
But not before I took her down by her long thick
braid, I pulled so hard my monkey-bars callouses hurt.
We went down to the bumpy ground, tiny rocks
dug into my knees but I didn’t want to let
go, rip her skin like I ripped mine! I didn’t have it in me-
I was scared, terrified of letting go
and not knowing what she would do to me.
I didn’t let go till my favorite coach set me free
with his words, pretty puckered lips pocked out from
that goat-tee the color of powdered sugar
drizzled over hot chocolate, and I looked into his eyes
his curly eyelashes always seemed to wave at me.
Except this time,
they looked more like a dying butterfly.
He was disappointed in me. But
when I told him my story
about my acting out of self defense
he almost looked proud.
He told me “never change yourself
for anyone.”
I still learned to shave though
liked the feel of my slick
skin
but also the nakedness
of my legs. I was so proud
and appreciated them bare.
But year after year of doing it
I can barely keep up
went low maintenance,
drought tolerant,
hair tolerant.
I went back to how I was
to treating my hair like hair
not a measure who
or what I am.
Hairy arms,
face framed by
peppered side burns and fuzzy
cheeks.
Again, my legs patas de estropajo
when the wind
plays with it extra long
as if teasing it- my hair
gets curled up…
como un smile. My hair
feels alive slow moving
like snail’s tentacles.
