Nothing matters,
Nothing matters but your peace of mind
Nothing matters but your happiness

And you do not have to be happy,
Nothing matters but your sadness

The unconditional space you allow for all of your discriminatory faces.

I knew myself when I was held back,
Chained, and stressed

I was so closed in that I got sick,
Lost my hair, lost my eyebrows

But the sickness was only a manifestation of what was always there
Because I had always been sick, but now, other people saw it too

But you saw it before they did, didn't you?
You knew I was sick before I did, didn't you?

My friend, I've come to reclaim my locks of hair,
So they can begin to thin through my lovely years,
My years of profound aging, wonderous greying,

I want creases in my face,
Caves in my veins, thin slices of skin wrapped around my arms that grow innocent by the sunset

I want to be old, oh dear how I long to grow old
To grow, to reach a state of infancy yet again

And then I will have no hair again, and my skin will go too,

But that is a story to be told by the me's that greet me from nextdoor,
The neighbor I always hear but who never opens her door,

who always teases me with the trees

And I spoke to my mother,
She knew what hair meant to me,
But it does not mean the same to her

And I think the ivy leaves hold something dearer to her