I am an ever growing poem. I am a knot of stubborn hair. I am a daughter of a rock in the ocean. I am an English major.

Kaua’i, Hawai’i

My eyes are dark as the shadows of reef under the deep ocean. My thin collarbones extend as hands do when they serve. My skin has an inherited tan with a golden tint from the sun’s presence of day. My lips are left bronzed by humid air. My hair is a dark brown and to care for it, I bend my neck forward for my chocolate curls to follow. I twirl it between my hands eight times, place it at the top of my head, spiral the ringlets, and tuck the strands’ ends into the ring of brunette hair. Attributes do not define me, yet the messy, relaxed bun I form is a depiction of my culture and an image I live to parallel. I form my bun as natives pound and shape a local plant into a paste. It is shaped as I balance on my bicycle, tires colliding with my beaten path home. It is shaped as I contend passionately for a ball on a youthful soccer field of grass, sweat, and bruise. It is shaped as I hold a pencil between my pressed lips and smooth teeth in haste of writing an essay. It is shaped as I park my cherry pick up at the beach. It is shaped as I feel leather binding in my palms and embrace scripture. The bun enables me to do many things. Without hair flowing freely, I am able to execute any labor or toil. I hope to always be able to hold myself together and fulfill a duty. The best way to put my shoulder to the wheel is to put my hair in a knot at the top of my head first. I seek to be beautiful, hold my head high, and hold my bun higher.

One of my favorite books is The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.