Hairseeds

My hair is a furnace allergic to fire
A brittle conduit of my own desire
A lighthearted show that sings of my light
While crushed by those without an invite

Unlike the water’s neutral malleability
The bets of outsiders snuff my flexibility
My body is my own, so I swim how I wish
My feelings are my art, not someone else’s dish

Stop talking to me. I’ll respond if I want
Your threats won’t mold me to a sycophant
I don’t need to be fixed, but your attempts might break me
I’m in my galaxy, just me and the cookie