My Hair

It simply sits atop my face,

Greying, thinning in disgrace,

Refusing to be tamed it hangs,

It is a mess of tangled strands,

I thus do tend to wear a hat,

To cover it, but more than that,

I fear it hates me so much so,

I leave it well alone to grow,

So long since it has seen a comb,

I leave the fucker well alone!