April PAD 29: Ode to the Crown (of the head)

Its weight might simply be
the frayed tail of a braid,
held high with dignity
held low when afraid.

Its pomp may be of circumstance,
piled with tailored curls,
tilted in awe of romance,
of the daydreams of little girls.

Mine was not made
to balance a tiara
nor as a feature to bow
low before another,

nor was it fashioned
to harbor prejudice
and condemn me
as merely a follower.

Its cabinet beneath
is a labyrinth unbounded
housing thoughts to bequeath,
whether true or unfounded.

It’s the glory of a human being
in his or her own right.
Its glamor often unseen
though it sparkles through darkest night.

Prompt: Write an ode
Today’s Writing Setting: In front of the laptop.

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