“Perfection” - Reigna Hels, 2022, Naperville Juneteenth Celebration

In honor of the city of Naperville’s first celebration for Juneteenth, Reigna was invited to share her spoken word poem “Perfection”.

Perfection

Dear fellow black girl,
Does perfection plague your life the way it does mine?
I promise you you’re not the only one.

I know what needing perfection to survive is like.
I’ve muttered the same mantras, lived the same fight.
Push for perfection,
Execute perfection,
Embody perfection,
Let it wrap around you like steel armor against the blades of their words.
I was the punchline of every joke.
I was the name whispered in every snicker,
I was the brown frizzy hair scar in every one of their class pictures,
I am still the only black girl in my honors classes.
I’m still the one they turn to,
Eyes gawking mouths open when the teacher brings up the master and his lashes.
I have a crown of hair that must have neon signs flashing
“Pet here”
And if you haven’t gotten the memo by now,
No, you may not touch my hair.

See, fellow black girl, like you perfection covered me in a cloud of smog thick enough to cower in.
I couldn’t stop them from making jokes,
But I could be sure when I walked across the stage being celebrated for all A’s no joke could
be made that they had been outperformed.
I could be sure if I followed every trend, tied my hair up and tucked in every stray end, my skin color would still be different but they couldn’t tell me I didn’t fit in.

But, fellow black girl, I must let you in on the secret of perfection.
When seeking something that doesn’t exist,
You lose the beautiful parts of you that do.

I thought I was fighting for perfection.
But with my brush, I was fighting the magical way my hair curled up defying gravity and their perceptions of me.

I thought I was chasing perfection.
But I was erasing any sense of my personality with every scripted post, with every overthought interaction, with every oversized hoodie cloaking my curves.

I thought I had found perfection.
But when I finally paused and looked in the mirror
I saw a girl who hated the hair that she used to admire as it graced her mother’s shoulders.
The hair that reminded her of family, until others taught her that it was fundamentally unruly.
Perfection created a girl who was in love with words and putting stories on paper but didn’t recognize the ones coming out of her own mouth.
Perfection created a girl who hated her body and its stubborn ability to remain the same.
She hated the way she was different.
I hated the way I was different.
I hated the way my thighs, which carried me
Through the day into sleepless nights, touched when I walked as though it was a cardinal sin.
I hated the way my arms looked in tank tops,
I hated the way I looked,
I hated the way I hated myself,
I hated what perfection had made me become.

Dear fellow black girl, please listen.
The hatred goes away the moment you realize perfect doesn’t exist.
That your curls are delicate and deserve to be spoiled with shea butter and cocoa oil dreams not ripped apart from the seems,
And that your body big small or in between has carried you through the weight of feeling unwanted,
And that while you have the power to conquer the world
You deserve to sit down and be rewarded.
Allow the world to bring you your flowers.
Allow it to wrap up your tired feet and lay your aching head down.
Allow the world to hold up a mirror and serenade you with the ways that you are sincerely wonderful.
Let the world show you your undeniable beauty,
And if they are too close-minded to do so
I will be there.

Dear fellow black girl,
Sit back, relax and let me show you how perfect doesn’t even come close to what you are,
And I’ll show you all my scars from trying to chase it.