The barber says what you want Miss
She stumbles on her words
Her lips are tangled and worthless
Words spill from her soul
The barber taps his clippers with hands shaking and eyes bulked
She says once more; cut please
Barbers stare into scalps of men refusing to look at Miss
She bounces on the empty chair, says louder and prouder, cut please
Clippers buzzing to the tunes of silence
She drifts to a free and easy life
Chairs spinning, left, right, up, down
Coils dance, twirl, float, free fall, glide; hug the floor
He says, you pretty
Miss pearly whites gleam with confidence
Miss refuses the mirror
Head held high
She leaves the men in the cave weak and speechless
I wake up and stare as you shine in glory. Whatever!
You don’t scare me.
You don’t define my past or future.
You tried to take my self-esteem.
You almost did.
From the moment you took my scalp, I feared the stares, points, and eyes of sympathy.
Take yo tired and weak strands and get a life.
Mine is not for the taking.
Yeah, you made me cry waiting for healing power.
I separated the two.
Healing is in my soul. My strength.
Power is my words I speak as I remove you from lips.
My lips speak no words of sadness.
They only spit the truth.
My truth is free from the weak strands.
I’ll never accept you.
But I’m not sad.
Sadness is an emotion far from my tears.
My tears have turned to joy.
Joy of accepting your shine and glory.
Yes. We were meant to be.
Alopecia. Thank You.