The tresses of Her perfect hair,
Her, and Her, and it, and they, and I.
And Her hair is an ocean. Her hair is a grand refuge.
Each strand a color, unique - a rainbow scalp.
Like a goddess - like a God.
Like him or him or they or Her or I.
She knows Herself, and she is defined –
By no one other than Herself.
And she lets down Her hair when she’s tired of the bun,
And unleashes the waves of every color – even hues unknown.
She knows freedom, she cuddles with equality,
She nuzzles with the mirror – and the waves – of Her hair.
She harbors each and everyone in the soft haven of Her hair.
Her haven, Her Heaven.
Unwelcomed, undesired – loathed.
Because the ones who don’t live in her beauty –
Die in the blindness of stupidity.