My curls — Ars Poetica #97 Reece Coren December 7, 2023 My curls are black. Dark as the gap in an open mouth. Or a heart after another good luck though text. My curls are long. They go all the way past my shoulders now. Sometimes, they stop me from seeing the light. My curls are messy. They're always getting tied up. I can't take the drama. My curls are thick. It's like I have to trek through the Amazon just to get the knots out. There's just so much there. My curls are loud. You didn't notice them when they first started. You can't not see them now. My curls have personality. They don't take any shit. They'll look you right in the eyes and won't move an inch. My curls hate sitting still. They want to move. They bounce and they dance and they fly in the breeze. My curls are shy. They don't like to come out sometimes. Everything has to be just right. My curls are complicated. They come with a lot. They require delicate care. My curls have been through a lot. It's taken them a long time to get where they are. But they wouldn't be here if they hadn't been there. My curls are resilient. Nobody liked them at first. They only get compliments these days. My curls are brave. They stand strong regardless of what people think. They don't bend or break when someone says something critical. My curls want you to leave them alone. They don't care what you think. They never asked for your opinion. My curls are here for themselves. They don't need your validation. They exist for one person and that person is not you. My curls are unique. Nobody has curls like mine. They might be similar, but they are not mine.