The hair strands taunted, teased.
Their roots innocently free.
They acted as if they didn’t know. Oh, but they had to know
The pain they were causing me.
Sure, I am no damsel in distress, nor sleeping princess.
But I cry too.
The disease wipes my tears and stroked my scalp when I am scared.
When the whole world turns against me the cancer is there.
It’s warm embrace.
And I know that when the world has taken everything from me, my mind, my soul, my body.
I will lye underneath the willow tree, its swishing branches creating a halo-like shadow on my brow, and hold the disease.
For, no one else will do it.
It’s horrible, they say, it’ll kill you.
But what, say I, are you doing to each other?
You are not killing each other?
They will look my direction, the guns raised, panic stoked.
But they will not stop.