The Pendulum

And all the sudden the balance in my brain tips precariously the wrong way and I instantly become a liar and a fraud.
Though it isn't sudden, I've been fighting for days, weeks, years, forever to feel the truth of reality.
Reality hurts, cuts more deeply than any knife I've ever wielded against myself, and I bleed.
There is no relief.
I tried to warn everyone, or at least those that matter the most to me,
I cried out in fear.
Love and reassurance have lost their power as I become a liar.
I cannot or do not know where I am in this whirlwind and
Am so horribly bereft at being caught again.

Symbols and Structure

I am preoccupied with my hair.
I have been conditioned to consider it:
Beauty
Power
Statement
Color
Vitality
Lift
Life.
I once wrote about my hair as a handle. The sore scalp. The fear.
I didn't write about who used my hair that way. I didn't want to level accusations.
Now I scream:
It is MINE.
I once wrote about my hair as a secret.
Keeping the length hidden away. The luxury.
Now, I say,
This is me. All of it.
I dream of writing about my hair as an asset. A treasure. Adored and precious.
I will have this
Beauty
Power
Statement
Color
Vitality
Lift
Life
I will do it
My
Way.
My way will be better than any of you could have conceived it to be.
My way will be better than I can believe.
My way will be bigger than I dream.

Dithering

I wonder sometimes what people will say when I'm dead.
Which eccentricity will be remembered and repeated?
How many bits of paper will surprise?
How many secrets did I manage to keep?
Then I remember: it won't matter to me. I'll be gone.
Still, I'll work harder to tell the truth, because lies will poison everything.
I have dreams, visions of these things, all blurred together and confused
As I grow old.