Yes to hair.
Yes to hair windswept
in a 1966 Thunderbird convertible heading for a cliff.
Yes to hair in your ears and up your nose,
under your skin, on your chin.

Yes to hairy pits.
Hairy birds. Hairy bitches. Hairy chicks.

Yes to hair on the upper lip.
Yes to hair wrapped around my wrists.
Clumps of it held in my fists.

We are our hair, flexible and strong.
We can wear it how we want.

Hair is our revolt.
Hair is a whip. It is a weapon.
Hair is a hammer.
Hair is our flag.
It is our crown of serpents – mouths open.

We will not be modest or be good.
We are in your shower drain and in your soup.
We will not be seen but not heard.

We headbang in solidarity with those other unrelenting bodies
who are excited by expression, by art, by pleasure, and disturbance.
We throw our hair around like mad women
but we are aware.

Our hair whips the air
like Molotov cocktail rags.
We flare up
and we are multicoloured, dangerous, aggressive and bright.

—

Hissy Fit are an all-girl art collective from Sydney.