Clumps

Its falling out in clumps now.
My hair.
It steals with it my invisibility and forces me out of the closet.
Again and again and again.
I have been hiding behind the appearance of normalcy.
that is fading into the clumps of hair in my hands.
a matted exposed mess of twisted follicles.

The loss is accompanied by a deep seeded fatigue.
“Daddy, mommy look at this one”
we are passing time at the art museum
“Mommy come here” my daughter looks at me to pick her up.
Its a strain to lift myself off the bench.
I force a smile and go to her
I want so much to enjoy these precious fleeting moments

A man confronts me
awkwardly invading my privacy
he precedes to define how I must fight my disease
I must be brave and fight for a positive attitude
I can hear the underlining whispers behind his voice
he takes my husband aside and confesses pity
Layering barbed assumptions and unwanted intimacy

Facing the clumps of hair in my out stretched fingers
I linger with thoughts that surround my loss of anonymity
And those who force on me onto the shining pedestal
A place for the inhuman hero
A place where I don’t belong
For I belong with my toes deeply set in the empathizing earth
complex, messy, and protectively vulnerable.

clumps

5 replies »

  1. I have read this post 4 times in the past 30 minutes. I have no words. Thank you for sharing some of the thoughts that hurt you the most.

  2. thank you. I wish you the comfort of your loved ones and the privacy you need on your journey. We aren’t all about long walks dressed in pink and sisterhoods of fighters and it’s nobody’s business. xox

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