I am at the bits and pieces stage with my Alopecia. So it started with a lake of bare scalp, and extended to oceans and continents. Now- water world of baldness, with a small island. Hell, if my head is like this, I might as well be as isolated on an island- Hawaii here I come with a bowl of poke and coconut juice- yum yum. Alopecia- there is no hiding the blotches of hair slowly oozing and leaking from my follicles. And somehow- this leaking is shame, somehow this leaking of hair as a loss of the sacred and somehow loss of humanity- loss of the "I am" somebody.
No more,
My spots are precious.
My spots are story.
My spots are like my seasons, they come and go.
They weave in and out to make the complexity of life around a little more manageable.
My spots are mine.
No more will my leaking and oozing of hair be shame.
It will be more like a graceful leaf falling from that tree in autumn,
Only to come again as something else.
No more will I call myself ugly for the things I lack.
No longer will I make my grief hurt.
No longer will I feel like I am giving something up if I shave off my locks.
No longer will I feel the sacred as being shaved away.
The sacred is in me
I am
and I love my spots
Here, there, everywhere.
My spots now and forever are mine.
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