I thought I would be brave and that I would not cry,
But cry I did,
When I made that call to have my
strands of silver
So many images come to mind when I speak the word.
Sheep in the pasture after shearing look so
they are led to the shearing shed
where their wool is cut and gathered.
The word can be used to describe depriving someone from power once wielded.
Yes, the days when my hair could be brandished,
Shown off for its natural curl and color,
I held on to those silver curls
Because I needed to twirl them in my fingers,
Shake them out,
Remember when once they wielded power over all the other girls with straight locks whom looked at me with envy after a day of swimming.
In those days,
Days of my youth,
I did not flaunt my curls on purpose.
I did not love them.
I did not embrace them.
I fought them.
I straightened them.
Orange juice cans.
Wrapping strands of hair on great big rollers
Before I went to bed.
I tried them all methods I ever knew of to try to achieve the looks the other girls had.
I did not want my curls.
I did not want those unique locks.
have always been a major part of my identity.
There once was a little girl
With a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
That was me.
When I was older,
I let my hair go silver, and it was a beautiful silver.
I also learned to embrace my curls.
I began to lose those silver strands of hair.
Hair fell from my head over many days and nights.
Eight years of days and nights where hair fell out.
Silver would cover my clothing.
Silver strands would tangle in my fingers as I washed my hair.
It was a
By a strange disease,
Replaced where each of my hair
follicles once flourished.
I ran my fingers through those very few
strands of silver
one last time.
My fingers where tangled in the
that have been deserting me.
I am done.
It is now time
my own power.
Today, I will be
Silver strands forever.