I've always had this funny spiritual thang with my hair. I don't know where I picked the idea up--maybe it was that Rasta lover?

My hair reflects my spirit. It is like its dress. My hair is long and curly and likes to get all tangled together in fuzzy, sweet nustles when I sleep. My hair is frizzy sometimes and locked sometimes. My hair is free. My hair loves the ocean. It likes to be petted and smelled. It likes to hang on my bare neck and back. It changes color. It grows slowly and surely.

My hair has been thru some shit. It started off as barely nothing at all. (I didn't get hair until I was 3). It was a big red curly fro during the middle years and it was often made fun of. (I was called Annie). The saddest year for my hair was when I chopped it all off for the feathered look in '87 (4th grade was rough). I have let it grow ever since. It got all dreaded up into one giant lock in the back of my head when I was 15. I was all strung out and fell asleep for 2 days. When I woke up it had transformed into a rat. It messed with me while I drove my car (I was living in the car) and it scratched at my neck. I finally cut it off with a razor blade and thru it into the Great Mississippi. I swear fish are still nibbling at that son of a bitch.

When I got pregnant at 18 it started to really grow. It likes to be pregnant. It also likes this tribe because I get to finally open up about its spiritual task of being a dress.

gotta go wash my hair cuz its my birthday....kandi