My loc journey, Its been a year, A year where I'm no longer defined By the stroke of a coomb, Nor any bristle of a brush. Edge control has released me, And bees wax has sucked me in. No more endless time spent thinking about my hair, but freedom in the get up and go. Who knew that this was my portion, That I really am the tree the Word speaks about, and my budding locs are proof of its season. My loc journey, My sister held my hand, Told me she would teach me, And then poured her oil on my crown. A journey valued and honored. This journey is personal, Returning to me, The me I thought I lost, She was there the whole time, Waiting on me, To start my loc journey.