Toupee, or not toupee,
that is the question:
whether 'tis nobler on the head
to suffer the slings and arrows
of outrageous alopecia
or to take wigs against a sea of baldness,
wear them as a buffer,
the whips and scorns stem,
and by opposing end them.
Ay, that's the nub.
With apologies to William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
"a bear found with alopecia, is a sorry bare bear indeed"
FRAGILE BUT DETERMINED
When leafage brushes hues of gold and brown
painting a canvass delighting the senses. The mind
tickled in imagination to wander, wonder round.
Amidst tweaks heard from brittle lumber's arms:
a seasonal alopecia brought by winds, crisp-cold.
Breezy chill caress, frenzy fanning sometime in a flash.
I tag his hands, stepping nearer for better warmth...
Rustling running crystal water tumbling to rocks
yet still, effortless flowing and flowing yelling life!
So must we even when dragging miseries arise
standing unconditionally, fragile but determined.
A whispher of prayer roar, like ocean currents
melting stony hearts. Resurrected beats drum
hopeful, lub, dub! Lub-dub! Lungs in fever air
resonating flowering depthness of undying faith
________________________________________________________
October 10, 2017
Alopecia
I'm lying across my purple bed,
Staring at my vanity.
I just wish I was dead.
I'm losing my sanity.
I can't stand taking these meds.
Their killing me, you see?
I'm a mess.
I'm not lying, I'm as truthful as can be.
I used to be pretty.
Now I'm ugly.
I miss my long beautiful locks,
Now they've all fallen off.
I sit up on my purple bed,
Facing the vanity.
My useless hairbrush is there,
And I'm screaming profanities!
What is it doing there?
I can't brush what isn't there!
Ever since I was diagnosed,
I've been feeling sick in the head.
My parents gave me these meds.
They'll make you feel better they said.
Now I'm drugged,
And I feel unplugged
What is the point of the hairbrush,
When there's nothing to brush?
My sister has stopped talking to me,
Pretending things are the way it's Supposed to be.
I miss my former beauty.
I want my hair and instead all is see is,
Bald, ugly me.
Instead I just sleep.
In my eyes I see,
My self-pity hole,
That I've dug so deep.
In that dark, dark hole,
Is that useless hairbrush,
And ugly me.
alice sits in a field of sunflowers
i catch her in a deep state of admiration
i never see her smile so i just shake my head and smile
here....alice does not know the meaning of alopecia areata
in this field, the sunflowers hug alice back
in this field, she feels like the most beautiful six year old girl in the world
it brings me to tears almost to see her so at peace with life and herself
not wanting to disturb her reverie, i turn around quietly to leave
not even five seconds later, i feel a tug on my shirt
alice is looking up at me with her beautiful brown puppy dog eyes
she knows that i know
i know that she knows
i simply say 'orange cream slushie'
she shakes her head rapidly and gives me a big, bright snaggletooth smile
i make alice queen for the rest of the day
she gives me the best hug i will ever have in my life
unbeknownst to her, alice will always be Queen for the rest of MY days....
For external use only-
enter the dragon and the spore.
The mold.
Allergen and Alopecia.
enter the giant ceramic logger and the ballad of the
blown fuse.
This is the outtage of power
interim
buds begin to flower and birds breed where
apple blossoms shower on
the living pretense of
Astroturf.
Sweating now, the
father of the flame
the serf draws his kerchief from his shirt and
wipes his brow
raises his axe and slaughters the
pregnant sow.
The Universal Man by
Ted Davinci. or was it
Leonardo Kazinsky?
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